Trade Secrets
by Miandrethal
Summary: AU Where Spock is a mysterious antiques curator that falls for Pike's equally mysterious girl... the gangs all here, just in a different form. Defininte Alternte Universe.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"_Society is a masked ball, where every one hides his real character, and reveals it by hiding" – Ralph Waldo Emerson_

Montreal's mornings were remarkably crisp despite the humidity that was quickly catching up with the sun. The rays were transparent, but happily split and colored a deep crimson where the beams pooled through heavy curtains. Spock was standing at his window with the blue-painted plantation shades pushed up and his window open, allowing the cool morning air to drift in and ruffle his hair. The Vulcan held a single cup of warm, black tea in his hand, watching the whirl and the rush of humanity as it passed by. Spock allowed himself to slip into a moment of cognitive unawareness, his long fingers gingerly tracing the embossed pattern of red chrysanthemums and yellow daffodils that graced the porcelain teacup.

He took another sip of the tea, letting the acrid warmth and flavor mingle with the briskness of morning in Montreal. He closed his eyes, the zealous flavor of the tea tapping his mind back into the present, exhaled as goose-calls and shouts and car horns created the symphony of the morning. The din built into a dissonant crescendo, each sound sliding back down the atonal scale. Familiar honks, a slammed door, and the muffled voice of a neighbor bidding a good day to his wife were the cues that signaled the start of a new day.

. As usual, he returned his soiled dishes to the dishwasher, started the cycle and padded back to his room to prepare for his sojourn into Montreal City. The routine was ordered, timely and simple; Spock had not changed it since he was old enough to live away from his parents and found that the system served him well in many aspects.

Spock roamed the length and width of his spacious walk-in closet, admiring his handsome wardrobe he'd accumulated over time. The basis for his couture this day was to impress a new client that was to meet him at his small store, _The_ _Artful Dodger_, just in the heart of Mount Royal. A discriminating eye roamed over the color-coordinated closet, moving past the browns, taking in the weather, the tone of the day, and the perception of making a first impression. In the end, Spock decided upon the Dior lead gray, straight-legged, flat front trousers paired with a dull red oxford shirt, a gray Dior pull-over wool sweater, a tan Lord and Taylor demi-suede blazer, and Kenneth Cole tan driving moccasins. He knew he possessed a Burberry scarf to shield from the morning chill and would not seek it out until he was ready to leave for the store. Having laid out his morning clothes, Spock stepped into the fresher for the customary 3.22 minutes of a sonic shower and then finished his routine with various everyday grooming habits.

Spock's flat was boldly planned. When one walked into the door, they were not greeted with the normal sprawl of the modern blend of dining room and entertainment area. Instead, one marched boldly down a wide foyer with a vista of high ceilings. At the apex of the ceiling and the crown molding was a quarter-inch chink that spread uniformly around the whole of the flat. From the small fissure hung the wires that secured the various paintings that engaged the senses. Mischievous angels, swirls of electric-blue starry skies and the somber swaying trees around sociable gatherings within the park invited playful revelry to all invited guests. The sleek hallway emptied into a room of high ceilings with a vagrant and open skylight, bleaching the room with the natural luminescence of the sun and drawing the eye up to both see the source of the rays. One had to notice the domed ceiling that surrounded the skylight had a scene of ancient Botticelli cherubs bounding and leaping in playful abandon. The angels reined their grace upon the spacious living area of warm tan painted walls bearing the simplistic photography of white orchids, a study Spock had done in sepia.

Two plush Chesterfield chairs sat across from one another, upholstered with toasted nutmeg linen, a simplistic floral pattern, a classic diamond-shaped button-tufted seatback, burled arms and finial feat, were eye-catching in their decadence. The surprise in the room was the brooding red sofa, which was staged before the large glass doors which opened to the balcony overlooking Bond Street. The rest of the flat was decorated much the same in toasted caramels, delicate sprigs of white and dashing russet swells. The furniture was handsome and strong with luxury, curving and quelling like the beak of waves against a beach. Neither bold nor garishly bachelor but subtle and surprising in its sensuality. Spock's flat spoke volumes of his inner workings, and yet said nothing at all.

Spock regarded himself as a finished product as he adjusted the Burberry scarf. Among the community of Old Montreal, Spock was the authority on many things, form being one of them. His impeccable style of dress was only a portion of the evidence. Spock's flawless charm and mannerisms when dealing with unruly customers, and the ability to keep his small list of loyal clients in his confidences, is what garnered him the wealth and prosperity that many other antiquities dealers strived for. What Spock lacked in natural human warmth, he made up with a shrewd business sense. And though many would say that his stoicism was a rakish habit, he was assured business because of his inability to be swayed. His natural Vulcan demeanor may not have garnered him friendship, but it garnered him social position and respect.

Spock closed the door behind him as he exited, the keys to his 1958 Jaguar Roadster convertible jingling in his hand. The cream-colored car gleamed in the morning sun; There was only a twenty minute commute from his flat to his store deep in the heart of Montreal. The car's ride was as smooth as silk upon the cobblestone paving of Bond Street.

The outside of _The Artful Dodger_ was more demonstrative in nature than person that owned the store. The store stood by itself along the first curve of St. James Circle, a two-story red brick Victorian with red, yellow, and blue painted accents of the stairs, awnings and balcony. Spock wanted to change the colors when he purchased the building, but there were municipal limitations on how much he could alter the original integrity.

Inside, _The Artful Dodger_ held a certain amount of old world charm. There were dusty tomes in oak bookcases aligning every wall. Glass curios and cedar chests were interspersed throughout the mania. Within three rooms were scattered ancient and rare nostalgic items ranging from spectacles to rocking chairs, delicate crystal decanters to a series of gold pocket watches. Spock walked into the second room and up the stairs to his cozy office. The office, unlike the rest of the shop, was more organized than the Library of Congress; it had to be systematic and methodical to be able to keep up with the chaos just one floor below. Though Spock memory was eidetic, and he had a mental catalogue of everything he owned, the walk-in customers had a nasty habit of shuffling his collections around the shop which made his memory sometimes void. His computer, however, had no such compunction and was always accurate with inventory.

Unlike many other antiques dealers that sold old wares that could be easily purchased off of a blanket at a dealers fair, Spock sold specialty items and also for a hefty commission would liaison between private collectors and museums. Spock speedily made a name for himself in the art world. As his small clientele would invariably agree; his secret was in the way he carried things off. Spock retained an enigmatic aloofness in everything he did, from his social obligations which swirled in rumor, and his mysterious personal life. The Artful Dodger existed on word-of-mouth and regular purchasers. It was a rare day that Spock gained any walk-in customers, and generally his prices were too outrageous for any general tourist or novice "antiquer" to purchase, and as Spock didn't haggle with walk-in pricing, the customer was at a loss.

Today, however, as Spock set his small satchel down upon his desk, there was a clinging of bells that signified a visitor. It was entirely too early for his appointment, which was scheduled closer to the end of his work day. It was also entirely too early to wrangle walk-in tourists that were always full of what they thought of as intelligent questions, though in reality were truly banal. Spock sighed, dropped his satchel, took off his scarf and walked down the stairs and front room. To his surprise, there was no tourist which could be spotted from a kilometer away in this area. It was a local, a woman, a woman of esteem and tastes – by her dress - and with a rather fantastic backside.

He watched her for a moment, her back to him as she lazily traced her delicate brown forefinger along the thick dust of a 16th century French cedar chest. She blew the remnants sensually into the air. She held wrist length black gloves, a delicate touch to her tea length Vintage Dior black pleated skirt and white, waist cropped vintage Chanel blazer. Her style gave Spock pause and almost made him grin; it was a rare treat to have a walk-in visitor that had an appreciation for fine clothing. Even her three-inch Christian Louboutins with their modern flare, didn't detract from the essence of her look. And this was only the back of her.

"May I help you with something?" Spock piped up. When she turned, she looked miraculous. Her half grin and smart nose, high cheekbones and expressive eyes, made his Vulcan heart skip a beat in his side. When she spoke, bells rang.

"Yes, actually I do need assistance," the slight accent brought Spock pause. It wasn't Canadian, nor was it completely French, but with remnants of the old _Francaise Occidentale de Afrique_. Spock nodded the pleasant sound of her voice making. His ears perked to try and catch of what region of the United States of Africa she hailed.

"With what, specifically, do you need help?" Spock inquired, swallowing his natural curiosity to attend to business. She swirled around, her skirt rising slightly higher in a flurry and then returning to its rightful place. The movement was absolutely charming, and Spock was sure that she had no idea its influence.

"I must purchase a gift for a close associate's birthday, and I've no idea what he would like," she said, biting her bottom lip in frustration. Spock analyzed the sentence and her body language, trying to gauge the things that she wasn't saying. The Vulcan yearned to truly know how "close" this "associate" was of that she sought the gift for. By the calmness of her demeanor, Spock deduced that the "associate" was more than a business partner and less than a lover. Spock knew exactly the gift he would enjoy. He pulled a key ring from his pocket, walked over to a glass curio and retrieved a sleek pair of buffalo nickel cuff links. One cufflink showed the obverse of the 1913 American coin, a historical composite of varying Indian chiefs, the other cufflink displayed the reverse side of the historical nickel, an American bison. Spock took out a small handkerchief and laid the delicate trinkets upon the handkerchief on top of the table for his visitor to view closer.

"This particular pair of cufflinks was designed by James Earle Fraser himself to be worn by then United States President Theodore Roosevelt. However, it was rejected by one of the president's top aides as, if you'll take note of the bison, it is one of the rarest minting mistakes performed by the US Treasury," Spock's voice hovered over the docile room as his visitor's no-doubt discriminating eye perused the Bison cufflink for a notable mistake.

This was one of Spock's best techniques, he would offer up a history lesson, taking any item he presented from alien to charming with a simple story. Humans loved mysteries and scandals, and strangely reveled in mistakes, which Spock understood provided rarity. And for humans to possess a remnant of historical indignity was more valuable than a simple holovid. The need to be unique and individual was both a blessing and a curse to the Terran race. Spock also enjoyed allowing his customer to unveil the mystery themselves. He enjoyed the looks of determination, deliberation, supposition, and finally realization that flitted over the faces of his customers. This beautiful woman was no different as she finally realized the error. The comprehension that played on her face was one of discomfited humor. The mistake was so absurdly obvious and yet so obscure as to cause one to kick themselves and laugh at the same time.

"This Bison only has three legs," she smiled warmly, looking up at him. He nodded.

"Precisely, the right foreleg of the Bison is missing. These cufflinks graced the wrists of President Roosevelt only once, as a joke when he visited the US Treasury minting press. These are the only pair of 3-Legged Buffalo Nickel cufflinks in existence, a rare find indeed," he stared into her eyes as he said the last portion of the sentence. He felt himself go weak at the way they sparkled. She was a rare find.

"I know nothing of American coins, how do I know this story is true?" she asked, returning his gaze. He exhaled and cooled his stare but only by a fraction.

"Vulcans do not lie," Spock responded coolly. This response was returned with a laugh so clear that it sounded like two crystal glasses clinking together.

"No, but Vulcans are capable of grand embellishment, however," she smiled. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Know many Vulcans, do you?"

"Not many, but a sufficient enough number to know the tap dance of their words," she responded without falter.

Spock raised both eyebrows and nodded. "Fascinating," a word he used for the unexpected, something that was curiously bewildering. She had effectively earned a spot in his mind that he saved for more academic pursuits. She had also silenced him, a rare accomplishment indeed.

"How much for these exquisite, albeit historically questionable cufflinks?" she joked, and flashed him a winning, white smile. He felt the ice in his heart begin to defrost; a flutter of something more surprising.

"The cufflinks appraise at $2000 and I do not negotiate," Spock paused for affect. Usually at this point that his customers experienced sticker shock, her facial expression remained one of unchanging poise, as if spending that sum of money on a pair of cufflinks was an everyday venture. Who was this woman? He had to know.

"However, I am willing to provide a discounted price for the much more valuable treasure of your name." Spock was not known as a man about town, nor had he ever been spotted with an unknown or unnamed female. When attending social functions, he came and left alone. Some considered Spock to be as celibate as a monk, though the truth was quite the reverse. Spock had had many dalliances in surreptitious romance and with the casualty and manor with which neither he nor his paramour was ever discovered. The women he'd been with were just as furtive, some of which were married and required the height of Vulcan stealth.

"The discount is not required," she said reaching into her small, Chanel clutch and pulling out a platinum money clip of one-hundred dollar bills. She counted quietly, her lips moving as she sliced through the bills with her forefinger. Spock was so intrigued by her response that he didn't even realize when she was finished counting and handing him the money. He completed the transaction automatically, taking the money and the cufflinks from the table and walking over to his front counter to complete the purchase and package her item. He walked and silently blinked, amazed, intrigued, and fascinated. She followed behind him.

He set to work until he heard a crisp gasp that stopped him from packaging the cufflinks. He looked up at her eyes, which were looking behind him at a tall oak cabinet made bookshelf with pane glass covers, which Spock kept under lock and key. This particular shelf housed the rarer books in his collection; it seems as if one of the books caught her undivided attention. He looked at her. She could barely speak for the excitement. Her mouth was slack, her eyes wide with disbelief, and a delicate, slender-fingered hand rested upon her chest as if witnessing a miracle.

"Is that an original copy of Alexander Dumas, fils _La Dame aux Camélias_?" Spock turned over his left shoulder to look at the book and then looked back to her.

"No," Spock said. Her ardor died in a beautiful pout of her lower lip. _Absolutely adorable_, a portion of Spock's mind screamed, "It is in fact, a signed original copy of Alexander Dumas, fils _La Dame aux __Camélias_."

Her face regained the look that Spock could only describe as radiant. He pulled out his keys from his pocket, turned and unlocked the glass cabinet and pulled the novel from its place. The novel was in perfect condition as he displayed it upon the small counter, opening the front cover and revealing a faded ink inscription and signature completely in French: _À Marie, la muse de mon coeur. La trahison de mon âme._ (To Marie: Muse to my heart. Demon to my soul.) This was not only a signed copy of that infamous book, but a personal gift to the famous, inspirational courtesan herself, Marie Duplessis.

She cleared her throat and Spock noted shrewdness to her eyes that he'd not yet experienced and wished to see again.

"How much do you want for it? No price is too high," she spoke with great urgency.

Spock, never one to miss an opportunity, took his second chance:

"For your name the book is yours," He felt sly.

She shook her head, closed her eyes, and smiled ruefully. "Why don't you just let me give you money for the book?" she asked, both annoyed and flattered.

"Money is common. Money, I have. As you can see, I deal in the rare," Spock nodded around his shop with his head. Her eyes followed. She smirked and cocked her hip up, a hand rested.

"Am I that rare?" she asked, leaning in over the book, over the counter. He leaned in closer, his eyes smoldering, just out of her personal space.

"The rarest," his voice was low and dark barely above a whisper, and despite her reservations she shivered. He was quite difficult to resist. She backed away, looked at the book then back to him. She continued this process of thought in silence. She exhaled and started to put on her gloves.

"The price is too steep for my tastes," she said coolly. _Well played_, Spock thought as he quickly grabbed the novel and placed it back in the case behind him, locking it with a slight click. The motions were not lost on her, the locking of the cabinet signaled finality.

"That is unfortunate indeed," he said almost tersely, not hiding his disappointment. He finished packaging her cufflinks and handed her a small bag containing her purchases. She took the bag gracefully and turned for the door.

"If you change your mind about the book," Spock stopped her mid-turn and handed her a business card. She batted her eyes as she took the card, smiling as she noted a quickly scribbled private number on the back.

"I will let it linger. You have a good day, sir," she said as she exited the shop, with a tinkle of door chimes in her wake. He could not conceivably calculate the chance that she was interested enough in him to call him. It seemed that the seductive little coquette had effectively knocked his Yves St. Laurent socks off.

He had only a moment to decompress the sexual tension he'd quickly built up, before his silent business partner swaggered through the door. James T. Kirk was impeccable, his high sheen gray suit fitting his broader form to perfection. Kirk nodded in greeting to Spock as he continued to talk loudly on his communicator. Spock could tell that it was either his new client or his new client's assistant on the other side. Either of which was making the vein in James' forehead pop out. Spock was a natural negotiator, but James had the charisma for networking. They worked quite well, all Kirk had to do was get the client in a meeting, Spock would do the rest.

"Did you see that hottie that just walked out of here," Kirk's vernacular and phrasing left much to be desired. Spock closed his eyes and decided to ignore the metaphor.

"Of course I saw her, I helped her pick out a pair of cufflinks," Spock said, removing some dust from a 16th Century Stradivari violin. Jim walked over to his favorite spot on the 18th Century Rococo Chaise Lounge and sat down. Spock narrowed his eyes at him as he always did, but found that it was futile to explain to James for the 232nd time why it was reckless to lounge on the antiques.

"Did you get her name?" Kirk asked.

"I did not, but not for lack of trying," Spock responded. Kirk was amazed and a guffaw left his lips. Spock prepared himself for the backfire of friendly banter; in fact, he welcomed it.

"She shot you down, eh? That's unbelievable, you usually know exactly what to say to get the panties to drop. I would call you my mentor if you'd had more women than me," Kirk smiled playfully.

Spock's eyes gleamed with undeniable mischief. "I will again argue Jim, that frequency and creative pursuance in such endeavors, trumps quantity."

"Touché," Jim responded, making a motion as if Spock had just stuck a sword through his heart. The livelier man rolled to his feet and walked towards his friend, "we need to talk business."

"Indeed. Why _are_ you here?" Spock asked; as Jim rarely made an appearance at the actual shop, leaving the micromanaging to his more anal counterpart, as well as the cataloguing of the historical events surrounding each and every item. Jim looked around with wide eyes.

"I think this conversation is best done up stairs, if you understand my meaning," Jim said. Spock nodded silently and led the way up the stairs. Jim followed and upon reaching the office, closed the sound-proof door behind him. Spock walked over to his computer and turned on an auditory frequency detector and blocker. This program pinpointed on a map where the listening frequency was located and then blocks the signal, insuring complete privacy within the confines of the private office. Jim took a seat, leaned back and propped his feet on the top of the desk. Spock sat down behind the desk and waited for the other man to speak.

"Are you familiar with Faberge Eggs?" Jim asked. Spock refused to dignify that question with a response. Instead, Spock offered up a series of nonplussed blinks that Jim always thought were audible in their sarcasm.

"Of course you are. You don't have to look at me like that, it was just a question. Anyway, our new client, The Doctor, has commissioned our help, or shall I say, the help of Le Chevalier," Kirk said.

"And the Doctor is interested in Faberge Eggs, I presume?" Spock entreated.

"Not the actual egg, but the surprise inside of the egg is what he seeks," Kirk threaded the needle slowly. Spock hated when Kirk only gave him small bits of information at a time.

"Which egg and which surprise, Jim, I do not have all day," Spock said sternly.

"You, sir, are a kill joy. The Jeweled Hen Egg's ruby pendant surprise is what he wants you to retrieve for him," Kirk said, making air quotes around the word retrieve. Spock vaguely thought of relaying to Kirk that there was no need to use air quotes.

"And how did the Doctor learn of Le Chevalier's existence, Jim?" Spock asked, leaning back in his ox-blood colored leather chair, putting his forefingers together at his mouth, "there are only two other clients that know of our other silent partner, and they know how Le Chevalier feels about publicity."

"I've contacted our two clients and neither knows of the Doctor personally or professionally. The Doctor, however, is legitimate as I have checked his background extensively and found no connections with any local law enforcement or that of Interpol. He's simple a rich surgeon with a penchant for objets d'art," Jim finished, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out various documents including a background check on the Doctor.

Spock perused the information and raised his eyebrow. "Does he wish for full disclosure or will he just be content on meeting with us?" Spock asked.

"That is what I was discussing with his assistant over the communicator. She said that he wishes for full disclosure, a chance to meet Le Chevalier face to face, to feel him out. I made it quite clear that Le Chevalier is never seen, but if he would like to talk over the communicator then that can be arranged. Even a blindfolded meeting could be set up. They were disinclined to accept," Jim smiled.

"Our terms are non-negotiable," Spock responded, "there is also another problem, should we decide to move forward with this."

"And what is that?" Jim asked.

"The ruby pendant that the Doctor wishes to possess is already in private collection Jim," Spock said.

Jim looked at Spock as if he had grown longer ears. "Yes, Spock, that is known already, which is why the Doctor is going to these means to have Le Chevalier "retrieve" it for him," Jim threw up the air quotes once again. Spock almost rolled his eyes.

"The Enterprise Private Collection is where that particular artifact currently resides," Spock lifted his eyebrow.

Jim sank down in his seat, deflating like a balloon losing helium. "Shit," was the only response from the blue-eyed man.

"Indeed."

The Enterprise Private Collection was owned by retired decorated United States Admiral Christopher Pike. His retirement, set early because of injuries sustained during war time that confined him to a wheelchair most of the time, allowed him the freedom and monies to pursue his unrestrained passion for rare historical artifacts and antiques. He was also _the Artful Dodger's_ number one client, having entreated Spock's help as a liaison with over twenty-six different museums. Pike had never requested the help of Le Chevalier and was blissfully unaware of the existence of the third partner. In the acquisition of the Faberge Ruby Pendant, Spock had not been his liaison, but had referred him to someone who was more familiar with the Russian staff of the Christies that Pike needed to make contact with. And short of that, Pike had become what Spock considered a friend. There was a somber respect that Spock held for the Admiral, a respect that even Jim didn't receive.

"It's a conflict of interest, Spock. We can't take it," Jim said with finality.

"You are correct. Will you make the call or shall I?" Spock asked, putting his hand over the communicator. Jim took it from his hand and dialed the number, the cheery feminine voice answer on the other line. Jim explained that Le Chevalier declined the offer and would not be able to help them. There was more conversation, but Spock ignored it, closing his eyes instead and trying to calculate the odds of the beautiful woman calling him. The click of the communicator going back onto the charger caused Spock's eyes to flutter open, looking at a sour-faced Jim.

"It's done. They were not pleased. I mentioned that we could probably orchestrate an open trade for the item or probably persuade the Enterprise collection to auction it, but the Doctor seemed uninterested in both of those methods as he's already tried negotiation," Jim said.

"Pike will not sell that ruby pendant; it has been his dream to acquire that since he first became our client. Le Chevalier and the coroner are the only ones capable of prying that gem from his fingers," Spock said with a sense of fact.

"Le Chevalier has ethics despite his trade. This can be a blessing and a curse, a blessing because it ensures continued loyalty, a curse because this particular venture for the Chevalier was to be quite lucrative," Jim said, pleased to see that eyebrow of Spock's rise in response.

"How lucrative?"

"Name your own price, that's how lucrative. That is neither here nor there, Spock. The Doctor is out of the picture, and tomorrow we can attend Pike's birthday celebration without feeling as if we're betraying him with every step. Le Chevalier would not wish for our honor to be compromised," Jim said, clapping his friend on the back.

"As if thieves have honor, Jim," Spock turned to his computer and turned off the auditory frequency blocking program and stood from his desk.

"Now what time is this party tomorrow, Spock? We need to go find ourselves some new suits," Jim said, walking towards the exit of the office.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"_Jealousy is a dog's bark which attracts __thieves__" – Karl Kraus_

Mont Vert was a subdivision of Old Montreal that contained the wealthiest and most affluent of the city's residents. Within the confines of the gated community, wondrous chateaus bobbed and weaved against a landscape of luscious, green hills. The homes of the community had been there for centuries, some even dating back to the early French colonization. With Admiral Christopher Pike's love of everything antique, it was no surprise that he'd purchased a home in the Mont Vert community which once belonged to the first governor of Montreal.

The chateau was gracious and statuesque in structure, and though many thought that Pike should modernize the home, the Admiral decided against calm, straight lines and opted for the ornate and shell-like curves of French Rococo. Pike's Chateau was a total work of art, with simple s-curves adorning narrow, asymmetrical windows and pale blue outer walls accented with hints of gilded gold filigree. Despite the opulence of design there was demure simplicity, strangely humble and far from dull. The affluent interior design employed the fantastical in bold colors ranging from raspberry pink and salmon orange to peacock blue and emerald green seen in splashes of flamboyantly upholstered furniture, small luxurious knick-knacks, ornamental clocks, and various visual artworks. Extravagant in feel, modish in execution with Antoinette vogue, every guest of the Pike Chateau felt as if they'd stepped back into the time of French aristocracy.

Spock noted his reflection in the mirrored wall paneling of Pike's foyer. It was unbelievable that the Admiral kept this touch of extravagance in old Parisian decoration. Amidst the walls a blind door made to blend with the rest of the paneling, which led to various other rooms around the Chateau. Spock had only been told of the blind door by Pike and had not yet been shown its placement or the path it traced through the inner walls of the Château. For Spock, it was a perfect place to adjust the simple, Hermes pearl pin that held his silk, white and silver striped ascot into place at his neck. The ascot's pattern played well against the high sheen of his gunmetal and silver pinstriped tux. He looked over to his right and saw Jim, dressed in simple and elegant black, doing the exact same thing. It was unlike Vulcans to be vain, but living amongst wealthy Terrans had taken its toll on Spock. Having to look the part in order to gain the respect and trust of the Montreal affluent was only logical as Spock justified it. One wrong pair of shoes could cost him the monetary difference of one hundred or one million. As Spock reasoned, dressing as a dandy was business not pleasure, though Spock drew some level of illogical satisfaction at his reflection in the mirror.

In silence he and Jim made their way up the wide, pale marble staircase to the second floor landing. At the top of the staircase visitors were greeted by the _Reclining Female Nude _by Francois Boucher, a treat that Spock helped Pike acquire from the Boston Museum of Art's permanent collection. Spock's slender fingers caressed the gold filigree-covered banister and made a right turn to walk down the long halls towards the exuberant drawing rooms. The walls were a bright peacock blue with darker accents and various garnered originals from the Louvre. Spock could point out with great clarity the commission he'd made from each painting, yet the money still seemed worthless compared to the timeless expression of beauty hanging upon the peacock walls.

"Spock, Jim, welcome," Pike said. He was walking tonight, albeit slowly, but it was a treat to see him out of his chair. Since the last time they'd spoken, Pike had undergone experimental surgery which allowed him to have use of those nerves in his legs. Almost six months had passed, and in that time, Pike's movements were less jarring and more fluid. The Admiral however, did require the use of his wheelchair when exhaustion overrode his zeal to be bipedal.

There was a characteristic limp to Pike's gait, and he required the use of a lavish cane Spock had delivered to him at the hospital after surgery. The cane was the very same from the famous portrait of Louis XIV of France. Upon receiving the gift, Pike wanted to pay him, but Spock would have none of it. So when Pike approached the Vulcan and shook his hand, Spock did not recoil as he might have others. Instead, Spock squeezed back in firm affirmation of respect and friendship.

"Happy Birthday, Admiral," Spock responded in kind, "I trust you received my gift?" Spock asked.

"The chaise is exquisite Spock, and compliments the smoking salon perfectly. It was a very thoughtful addition, thank you dear friend," Pike said, turning and walking purposefully.

The Pike Chateau was one of the few homes in Monte Vert that had a ballroom. Such a room shuttered away in darkness for three-hundred and sixty-four days of the year was felt to compensate for Pike's lack of actual ancestral roots in Old Montreal. As an American transplant, Pike was known to have a self-indulgent lifestyle, a cynical outlook, and enigmatic history. His willingness to share his affluence with the surrounding community of Mont Vert gained him social position, but not necessarily respect.

To get to the ballroom, Spock and Jim followed Pike down a panorama of drawing rooms, seeing from afar the many-candled luster reflected in the polished parquetry interspersed with murmurs of guests conversing among the roil of muted music and lively banter. The senses feasted on the garish colors that seemingly couldn't blend on paper, but in execution inspired emotion that would rival that of a Verdi opera. The inhabitants of these richly decorated drawing rooms, those that elected away from the lively ballroom, created their own ruckus as a rich composite of political conversation, riotous drinking songs, and sweet murmurs of lovers.

The ballroom was a simple design, with high ceilings and dark, muted walls. A Swavoski crystal chandelier was hoisted impressively above the crowd of tuxedoed gentlemen with their evening gown-attired ladies. The swells of live music soared into the high ceilings and hovered over the lively souls dancing, mingling with the gentle scrapes of polished wingtips and taffeta hems against the mahogany floor. The enigmatic, eccentric tone that the community of Mont Vert operated on sprang to existence within the shell of the room. The revelers from a Boucher painting brought to life in a set stage of the large ballroom spoke to Spock's sensibilities of pride and luxury.

On the whole, Spock was amused by the effortless pretense of his peers. He may even have envied them. Quickly entering the doors, he caught eyes with Montgomery Scott, who was considered to be as great an authority on lineage as Spock was on form. In his memory, Montgomery held a running register of the households of Old Montreal and the scandals that sullied them. If Spock wanted to know who a person was and their relation within their community, he would enlist Scotty's help. Spock and Scotty exchanged a simple, affirming nod. Spock continued to move through the crowd behind Pike, and Scotty continued to hold court with a small group, no-doubt gossiping.

Another man whom Spock considered a close associate was Hikaru Sulu's. Sulu's talent was in his ability to keep secrets. He had established a name for himself in the world of affairs and information. It was no secret that many of the community entrusted Sulu with their financial affairs, some even as far as to provide him with keys to lockboxes and codes to their accounts. In the social arena, Hikaru was demonstrative and energetic, intrepidly drawing around him a small entourage of admirers. In his business affairs, Hikaru was mute as a monk. As Spock again acknowledged his friend with a nod, Sulu returned with a cocky wink.

A peel of vaguely familiar laughter caught Spock's attention. The sound resonated from the small group that Pike seems intended to infiltrate but beyond a tallish blonde woman who was accompanying a dark-haired man. Pike lumbered over to the group, the tallish woman parting for the host, revealing the source of the laughter, the mysterious woman from his shop the day prior. Spock turned to Jim and they exchanged glances before joining Pike in his chosen group of the evening.

"Spock, Jim, I would like for you to meet Dr. Leonard McCoy and his fiancée Christine Chapel. Dr. McCoy is the surgeon that fixed my legs, a top authority on nerve attachment and revival, and an avid art collector like me," Pike introduced them. McCoy had a strong grip and confident stance, looking both Jim and Spock in the eyes as he shook their hands. Spock's eye contact was fleeting as he removed them from the doctor to that of the mystery woman standing beside Pike. On this evening, instead of wearing a dour mauve, or airy green for the season as so many other women preferred, she was the only dressed in passionate red.

The sleeveless, floor-length gown was made of luxurious, fiery red taffeta stiff and fitted to every contour of her perfectly slim frame. The elegant rouching at the bosom lent way to a smooth bodice, cinched at the waist by a matching red belt with Swavorski Crystal embedded in the clasp to add depth and contouring. A short train attached to the back of the dress, giving a bit of old world charm to the modern, sleek style. Adding to the artistic genius of the De La Renta gown was the Jeweled Hen Red Ruby Pendant accented by a simple up-do in hair dressing, framing the perfect russet décolletage.

"This beautiful, charming lady is Camille," Pike introduced, "my date for this evening."

Camille held out her slender fingers and when Spock took her hand in his own it was like touching fire. He moved his lips down to test the dainty flesh and felt all of his Vulcan restraint begin to unravel. His eyes closed fleetingly, but enough to savor the scent she'd applied to the pulse point at her wrist. He placed a simple, charming kiss upon her smooth, brown hand and felt the pulse in her wrist wring faster and clearer, a small fact that made the prowling masculinity in Spock triumph. There were far more pleasurable places Spock could kiss her that would make her pulse quicken.

"We've met, Chris," Camille said as she received her hand back from the charming Vulcan. Spock took a moment to review Pike's wrists where two very familiar Buffalo nickel cufflinks presently resided. A pang of jealousy shot through him, but his Vulcan stoicism allowed him to take grasp of the green-eyed monster for that moment.

"Yes we have. The cufflinks were purchased from the _Artful Dodger_," Spock informed.

"Ah, so you are the man Pike has been raving about," McCoy said, leaning closer to examine Pike's cufflinks. The green-eyed doctor clapped a friendly arm against Spock's shoulder; the Vulcan held back the urge to shrug him off, knowing that the response would be considered rude. Jim, noticing his friend's unease, wrangled the congenial doctor, playing to the man's southern mannerisms and awkward touchy-feely mores. Jim set to business on McCoy, discussing specific collections that McCoy wished to acquire, even being so bold as to lead McCoy away from the ballroom and to the smoking salon where the two men could enjoy a brandy and a hand-rolled cigar. Pike was making idle chit-chat with the vapidly smiling Christine about a new form of architecture that combined hints of Modern and Baroque into an essential medium. Pike and the chatty Christine excused themselves to the small table of hor d'oeuvres and white wine punch. Spock and Camille were left gloriously alone, both feeling the tension between them palpable.

"Curious," her voice was clear and calm, "do Vulcan's dance?" The banter from the day prior that had permeated their conversation was thankfully still present. Spock sent a prayer of thanks to Surak and garnered all of his brassy wit. She was staring up at him with flirty eyes, and a small grin that espoused her need for a turn about the dance floor.

"They do, indeed. However, only with women who take pleasure in their company," Spock playfully spat back. Camille was taken aback from his response but did not show it; instead she reinforced her skills for the verbal battle ahead.

"Is the pleasure of a woman held in such high regard by Vulcan men?" she licked her lips and held out her hand.

"The highest," He grabbed her offered hand and slowly pulled her closer to him by her narrow waist, stepping seamlessly between the waltzing couples on the dance floor. They glided as if upon a cloud, Camille not knowing if they really touched the ground and at the moment not caring. His honey brown eyes were locked with hers as he whisked them around in dreamy precision to the music in three-quarter time.

In all of his years of attending parties, it was never known that Spock could dance, especially with such ease and grace. Eyes darted and murmurs increased, discussing with great passion the simple doting on the virtually unknown dark beauty in Spock's arms. The talk increased when the two dancers disappeared from the ballroom and retreated to a secluded area of the balcony to enjoy the moonlit sky and catch their breaths. It was under the hazy, yellow gibbon that Spock finally released her hand, and in that moment the Vulcan truly felt profound loss. The fair creature that stood beside him, staring with dark eyes at the smiling moon was not his. And despite the other women he'd seduced who were otherwise and more permanently attached, he could not find it in himself to sully Camille's honor.

"They are talking about you and me," she said in a low, raspy tone as she inclined her head towards the entrance to the ballroom, indicating the partygoers.

"They are surprised by my actions of the evening. I am not known for my outgoing personality," he deadpanned. A smile lit her features.

"I cannot see why, your wit is spot on, you are roguishly charming, devilishly handsome, and dance as if wings are fitted in the soles of your feet," she complimented and it was Spock's turn to squirm.

"The talent for dancing has been revealed, but I would hope you would keep the rest of my attributes in confidence," Spock responded coolly. She shook her head.

"So you enjoy the air of mystery that surrounds you, do you?" she asked, though the question was rhetorical.

"I would not be as successful as I am if I revealed more than I had to. It is precisely the aloofness that garners my placement within this society."

"That is unfortunate, however, I feel almost as unique as those cufflinks knowing this private information. You can trust that I'll keep your secret under lock and key," she made a sign of locking her full lips and then stuffed the imaginary key into the bodice of her dress. She smiled at him, and noted that his eyes expressed all of the emotions that the rest of his face and his body language did not. The eye contact was not broken nor was it uncomfortable for either party. He allowed her to search his eyes for unanswered questions, peppering his gaze with currents of lust that didn't go unnoticed. She looked away only a moment, allowing her heart to slow its beating, allowing herself to gain control. It was rare that she felt so wanton, and the lull in conversation provided pause for her to regain command over her emotions.

"I understand now why you did not call me," Spock said, his baritone low and solemn. She looked back up to him, hoping to see his eyes on her, but he was looking at the moon. It was only after he finished his statement that he returned his gaze to her, hoping for explanation.

"You do?" she questioned, a playful, intelligent response, she was neither giving anything away nor holding anything back from him. She effectively kept the ball in his court.

"Yes, I understand now that you belong to Christopher…" he was interrupted.

"I belong to no man," she said, seeing his eyebrow shoot up into his hairline. His response of shock was expected, the undercurrent of lust that permeated his gaze was not.

"I beg your pardon," he yearned for clarification.

"You are not the only guest at this party that has secrets," she said flirtatiously and turned her back to him, moving away from the view of the open door towards a low-hanging tree fern in a more secluded portion of the balcony. He followed quietly, watching as the night breeze ruffled the wispy hairs at the nape of her neck, mesmerized by the sheen of her skin in the moonlit sky. She sauntered into the darkness of the corner as if it was a lover embracing her return, and it enveloped her in its comfortable seclusion. She exhaled and closed her eyes, letting her tactile senses take over, letting sensation rein in her passion.

When she turned Spock was hovering upon her with his hands behind his back. With smooth precision Spock began walking her backwards until her bare shoulders touched upon the chilled exterior wall of the Chateau. He bent slowly forward and she thought he meant to kiss her lips, excitement raced through her as his head moved lower, past her lips, and he placed two butterfly kisses upon the swell of her modest cleavage. She closed her eyes trying to recall if any other man had ever made her feel so poignantly desired. Her composure was in peril, and though she belonged to no man, she was the date of Pike and not of the handsome Vulcan who was a devil of sensuality.

When her poise returned to its sticking place, she opened her eyes and returned his stare. And even in the darkness she could see the smug lilt to his lips and the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He was seducing her with both hands behind his back, a feat that any man would rejoice. It was a marvel of skill in the sensual, one that should have been recorded by poets. He towered above her, masculine but not imposing suspended upon her personal space without threatening her sensibilities. The barrier of flirtatious banter had been breached by an intimate and stolen kiss, and yet Camille thought he could have stolen more. He dipped his head and again she thought he meant to kiss her lips, instead he stepped back allowing her to pass him. She stood still, her head spinning, and then moved past him towards the high stone-ledged balustrade, hoping that her disappointment didn't register on her face.

"I have never met a Vulcan such as you," she responded, her voice slightly chaotic and breathy.

"And you never shall," his baritone was deep and dangerously hitting on every part of her that was woman. She exhaled and composed herself further, and then regarded him with a sultry smile.

"Do you always try to seduce your friend's dates?" finding the voice of the woman she was instead of the embarrassingly wanton girl succumbing to Spock's charms. She leaned one hand against the balustrade with the other upon her hip, reclaiming the teasing tone of earlier. Spock moved like silk across the small expanse between them, hands still planted behind his back. She shrank with his every step forward, turning her back to him once again, trapping her front against the balustrade. He stood just close enough for her to feel the heat from his body without touching her.

"If I wanted to seduce you…" he whispered darkly into her left ear. He slid behind her, keeping the same closeness, his humid breath causing her eyes to close and gooseflesh to rise on her skin.

"You would be mine," he finished the sentence in her right ear, and then backed away, calmly standing against the balustrade. She moistened.

"Then what are you playing at?" she whispered because she couldn't quite find her voice. Her eyes finally opened, blinking, but not looking at him.

"You are laboring under the misapprehension of this being a game. Make no mistake, I want you."

The words were plain and concise like a medical journal but with more sensuality. There was no witty reply dancing upon her lips or mischievousness tangible in the air. Nothing of their prior relationship was retained, and what was left between them was a jarring sobriety to replace the coy flippancy. Once more, it astonished both that neither wanted prior understandings to return. Against her better judgment she stepped forward, her hand reaching first.

"Camille… there you are," Pike stopped her motion jarring her back to her senses, "I'm glad to see that Spock is taking good care of you." Pike ambled towards her and she extended the hand intended for Spock to Pike.

"He has been quite the company. He was telling me the history of my necklace," she lied. Pike offered joyful blue eyes to his Vulcan friend whose expression, though stoic leaned towards the dour.

"Yes, it is the prize of my collection. The Jeweled Hen Ruby Pendant, a gem once worn by a Russian Czarina, and now it graces the neck of perfection herself," Pike cupped Camille's face and leaned in to kiss her upon her forehead. Spock closed his eyes and swallowed deeply. The Vulcan cleared his throat as soon as the kiss ended, making both Pike and Camille look to him.

"Pardon me, I must locate Jim and discuss with him some business," he nodded his head to both Camille and Pike and exited the balcony with controlled calmness, not turning his back to see the couple he'd left nor caring to.

Spock sought out Jim just as he'd said, catching his business partner conversing with Montgomery Scott. A smile from Jim and a rising of the second glass of amber liquid he held in his hand, signaled to Spock that Jim had noticed him too. The Vulcan moved smoothly through the crowd, statuesque and graceful, stopping in front of Jim quietly.

"You're a smooth motherfucker, you know that," Jim said snidely, handing Spock the extra glass he held. Scotty chuckled, obviously well in his cups, noted by his ruddy nose and cheeks.

"I assure you, gentleman, I am neither free from irregularities nor have I ever committed incest, least of all with my mother," Spock took a sip of the cognac. Jim chuckled and clapped his Vulcan friend on the back.

"Ah, see, now yer being clever," Scotty said.

"I do so enjoy it when you are being deliberately obtuse," Jim said and took a sip of his cognac.

"It amuses me that we've known one another long enough for you to perceive the difference," Spock responded.

"Indeed, but apparently not long enough to know you could waltz. Like an onion, this one," Jim says looking at Scotty and pointing at Spock with his thumb.

"Aye, I thought the first rule was to be discreet," Scotty said.

"I do not find dancing with a lady at a social event to be worthy of alarm, Monte," Spock responded flippantly.

"Aye, agreed. However, the stoic, mysterious, hitherto thought asexual Vulcan taking a fluid turn around the hardwood with the charming, radiant future fiancé of Admiral Pike and then skirting out onto a balcony for over an hour is most definitely conspicuous and fodder for gossip," Scotty explained. Spock closed his eyes and reopened them slowly, realizing the mistake he'd made.

"It's sinking into that lust-ridden brain of his," Jim said, "thank you for that, Scotty."

Jim clapped Scotty on the back and thanked him for the cognac and then led Spock out of the ballroom towards the smoking salon. The smoking salon was on the West wing on of the house where the private area and sleeping quarters were arranged. Spock and Jim did not exit through the large entryway to the ballroom, the same way they entered. Instead they strolled calmly to an unobtrusive blind door, which blended seamlessly into the adjacent wall. Yet another door once used as a servant's door for entering and exiting. The door led to a hidden hallway that would carry the gentleman to the smoking salon. Very few knew of the hidden passageways within the Pike Chateau, as knowledge such as this was a threat to the security of Pike's prized artifacts. The Admiral shared these treasured secrets with only his close and trusted confidants; as such only those closest to Pike were entreated to the charms of his smoking salon.

Jim opened the door to the salon, entering from another seamless wall, colored in jewel-toned sea green. Spock pushed past his friend and slouched upon the peacock-hued chaise, which had been Pike's birthday present. The Vulcan did not speak; he only stared blankly at the wall in front of him, deep in thought. The dashes of gold and crimson red splashes did nothing to brighten the severe darkness of the room or Spock's mood. Jim walked over to the small humidor and retrieved two cigars and two more glasses which he filled with Pike's best Scotch. He approached the pensive Vulcan bearing gifts.

"I do not smoke, Jim," Spock said.

"You do now, I hear it helps get pussy off the brain," Jim said, handing both the cigar and the drink to his friend. The Vulcan took both and realized that he still hadn't finished the cognac, which was seated on the small, dark oak table next to the chaise.

"I do not have… pussy on the brain, as it were," Spock said the words with notable distaste. Jim pursed his lips, shrugged his shoulders and cut the end off of the cigar, throwing the cutter to his friend. Spock eyed Jim and then eyed the cutter and with a sigh of defeat cut the cigar. Jim waltzed over and promptly lit the Cuban and Spock took a puff. If the cigar did get Camille off of his mind then the smoking wasn't for naught. The Vulcan slowly inhaled, analyzing the robust flavor of the tobacco leaves and then exhaling the velvety smoke. The sensation was not unpleasant; in fact it was quite soothing, effectively flirting with the buzz from the alcohol allowing Spock to relax. When Jim finally spoke, Spock realized he hadn't thought of Camille for 2.35 minutes, strangely more focused.

"Fascinating… I know," Jim said, seeing his friend's stoicism melt away right before his eyes, "what I need now is chocolate and a camera."

"I find no humor in that comment," Spock responded, his face uncharacteristically expressive.

"So… you going to tell me what happened with her or not?" Jim said, sitting across from Spock in an over-upholstered bergére with a gold-gilded beech frame and golden accents upon its cobalt cushions. Spock took yet another sip of his Scotch and another long inhale on the cigar.

"Nothing transpired that was improper or would be perceived as such."

"Not even a kiss?" Jim asked.

"A small, simple kiss upon her bosom but nothing more," Spock added.

"You realize that you have to back off, right?" Jim said, looking at his friend in all seriousness. Spock's eyes closed and he finished his Scotch. He then put that glass down and then gulped the rest of the cognac in one, long sip.

"I am afraid that the ends will not justify the means in this case, Jim. That is to say, I do logically understand what needs to be done, but I do not believe I will be able to do it," Spock responded in all truth. Jim rolled his eyes and stood, walking back towards the bottle of Scotch with Spock's empty glass. He returned with refilled glasses.

"Spock if you're going to fuck something in Pike's life, please make it the Ruby Pendant. Girls are a dime a dozen, especially for you," Jim responded flippantly. It was probably the most practical solution that Jim had ever had. Spock's face, which had returned to its normal placidity, came to life with a gleam of consciousness in his eyes and a delicately arched eyebrow. Jim, slightly skeptical of his friend's intent, leaned back into his chair and furrowed his brow. The Vulcan jumped from the chair and Jim could see the cogs moving in his calculating brain. Spock paced the small space between the chaise and the bergére, his forefingers touching together and meeting at his bottom lip. The stance was recognizable to Jim as the posture Spock took when great ideas were born. The pacing stopped and Spock looked at Jim, his face stern and serious.

"Is it possible for you to get back in touch with The Doctor?" Spock asked with urgency.

"It's late, but I can probably get in touch with him. Why?" Jim's brow became more deeply wrinkled.

"Le Chevalier would like to accept his offer," the words left succinctly and cleverly, floated through the air, touching the tall ceiling of the room and dying on Jim's ears. Jim blinked in rapid succession, opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again with a hard exhale.

"What?" the only thing Jim could formulate.

"Was I somehow unclear?" the eyebrow.

"Your words were fucking crystal; I'm not so sure about the thought process behind them, however," Jim stood, his face contorted in a mask of disbelief.

"The matter has been measured accordingly, Jim, I assure you," Spock said, reaching inside Jim's black, brocade dress coat pocket and retrieving his all-in-one communicator and holding it up to him, "make the call."

Jim snatched the communicator from the Vulcan and shook his head in disdain.

"No, not until you tell me why this change occurred."

"Motivators have expanded beyond what Le Chevalier is able to refuse."

"The only thing that motivates Le Chevalier is money, and he was offered a shitload of that. Cut the crap, Spock, this is about pussy and you know it," the blue-eyed man's annoyance and disbelief was airy in his words. Spock stared back at him without stoicism but with complete blankness.

"The nature of the motivators is unimportant, only that the deal is accepted. Now make the call, Jim," Spock says the last words in a strangled and tense staccato.

"How about this motivator: Bro's before hoes. Have you ever heard of that? Women make you sloppy, Spock, even if you're a Vulcan. I'm not setting this up until I hear you verbally and concisely in that charming Vulcan way of yours, tell me exactly why you're doing this," Jim held the communicator in his hands, staring the Vulcan in the eyes. Spock exhaled, cleared his throat and moistened his lips.

"It is simple balance, Jim. No one should have every rare and beautiful object in the world. By retrieving the ruby pendant, balance will be restored."

"You're taking the jewel because you can't have the girl. This is going to end badly and you have no one to blame but yourself."

"Make the call, Jim," Spock's voice was strangely vulnerable, his eyes modest, almost begging. Jim stared at his friend, swore loudly and pulled his communicator open, the soft beeps of the touchtone the only sound heard in the room. There were tortuous seconds as the communicator tried to patch through, and finally a victorious, feminine voice Spock could hear on the other side of the line, the assistant. Jim stared at Spock, exhaled and spoke:

"Yeah… tell The Doctor, that Le Chevalier has changed his mind…"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"_Attraction is not a Choice"—David DeAngelo_

It was an unnatural occurrence for her to be up as early as she was. It was barely daybreak, the sky a shade of soft, sensual blue and stars twinkling fondly, slowly losing the battle against the sun. She stepped gingerly onto the terrace of her pied-a-terre to watch the night turn into day. She couldn't remember the last instance in which she'd witnessed a sunrise, and as she stood watching the phenomenon she wondered why she didn't make this a daily occurrence. She leaned her elbows against the balustrade, closing her eyes and listening to the morning bird song. The breeze rustled the sleep-mussed hair that caressed her shoulders, and the satisfying stretches she did of her back caused the loose ties of her silk robe to fall open and expose the cream, silk chiffon negligee she wore underneath. She enjoyed the feel of the silk against her creamy brown skin; the morning air chilled enough to cause her nipples to awake as the morning sun rose.

Camille watched the day come to life, not ashamed of her near naked form as people around her headed off to their insipid day jobs. She did not envy those people, and observed with satisfaction the glances of disdain the drones reserved specifically for persons like her; people who flaunted their privileged life of luxury. One specific commuter was bold enough to voice her censure. Camille returned her with the sweetest smile and a wish for safe travel. After that, however, Camille decided she'd witnessed enough of the morning rush, and retreated inside to the airy, feminine cheerfulness of her flat. She left the glass, French doors open, however, the breeze rustling the white curtains surrounding the doors.

The flat was simple and charming with a large terrace in the French style, accessible from both the bedroom and the front living area. There wasn't much on the terrace but a few terra cotta pots nursing fragile herbs and two sizable potted bushes – one of rosemary and one of lavender. The breeze mingled the scent of both the herbs, lending a unique fragrance to the delicate complexity of her décor: a bright confection with a fashion edge, defined by a playful yet well-edited use of apple green, watermelon pink and the liberal use of black on all wood accents.

Her bedroom extolled her sense of style, with an ink black Queen-sized bed painting a graphic silhouette against the eggshell white walls. The Chippendale-style headboard and the boldly turned posts evoke American Colonial and yet the antique black lacquer gave the bed a decidedly Modern attitude. The bed was embellished with fine linens shipped expertly from mills in Russia founded by Catherine the Great. The black and white damask floral-patterned duvet paired with the tailored and preppy black and white gingham pillow shams and a soft, cotton quilt with liberal blasts of pink and white on a black background offered a versatile contemporary style to an emphatically graphic garden. On either side of the bed reside identical antique, maple night tables colored in matching black that accentuate the hand-distressing on the top and scoring on the sides of each sturdy antique. Delicate accenting of crystal lamps with white lampshades grace the tops of each night table, while a fashionable silver-leafed starburst mirror hangs boldly above the bed in the middle of the wall evoking 18th century vogue.

She'd kept the walls stark white and the floors a deep chocolate wood throughout the entirety of the apartment, to give the space a city loft appeal. The living room was unique with horizontally paneled walls that etched around until breaking off at the entrance to the kitchen and the French doors of the terrace. A 3-cushion white sofa backs across a small space from the terrace doors. The sofa is hostage between two identical, small tables with a black finish, turned legs and single drawer and the same lamps that adorn her bedroom tables. The coffee table is not one large table, but four grouped together smaller tables finished in black with an inset glass top and slatted bottom shelf. The "coffee table" sits unassumingly upon a black and white hounds tooth rug. On each catty-corner of the couch are placed chairs, the right side holds a simple white Chesterfield, while the left side has a inviting tub chair with spooled feet in a soft jade. Fresh-cut chrysanthemums and white and pink Phalaenopsis orchids scattered about add robust touches of color to the fine sensibility of the room.

The kitchen was her destination, a cup of strong coffee being the ultimate goal. The sounds from the opened door in the bedroom are too muffled for her taste at the moment. The home is too quiet and stark, so passing by the neat living room she switched on her television, letting the morning news fill the silent void. She took the remote with her as she moved from the living area to the breakfast nook, setting the control down upon a rectangular dining table with boldly turned legs, and strangely the only wooden piece of furniture that wasn't stained black. Instead she kept the integrity of the charming maple in a clear lacquer and paired the table with two black comb-backed chairs across the table from the bay window and bench combo, the bench also accented in black.

Behind a swing door a simple kitchen. The only room in the flat she allowed to remain enclosed despite the open floor plan. Two small awning windows provided the only ventilation in the modest two-way galley. This was the only room where black was not prevalent, only angelic white, soft olive and white mingled marble countertops and floral pink curtains over the windows. Every appliance was stainless steel, her cookware olivine, her flatware white, her stemware elegant crystal.

She didn't drink coffee often, but when she did she wanted it to be the best, much like everything in her life. On her last trip to her homeland she'd sneaked through Customs beans from the Ethiopian Yirgacheffe region's award winning Koko mill. Opening the bag was a delight to the senses as the intense, warm aroma blasted the even-tempered kitchen. She took pleasure in grinding the beans down, simple and fine in order to extract as much flavor as she could. She scooped the powder out and placed it into the percolating carafe and let the appliance work its magic. Within minutes the scent intensified and she knew her morning treat was ready. She poured herself a simple cup, the deep chocolate hue appearing almost black and vibrant against the severe white of her coffee cup. She took a delicate sip of the warm brew to taste it free of additions. The flavor was savory with hints of the floral upon start, climaxing into suggestions of citrus and aromatic woods, and ending with a delicious, light frothy chocolate. The addition of the heavy cream she enjoyed simplified the intense flavors but the strong cup retained character and balance.

She floated back towards the dining area, sliding onto the bench, stretching her legs out like a cat reclining. She sipped leisurely, the tang of the coffee reminding her of the charming Vulcan from two nights prior. It was not often that a man made his way under her smooth, mahogany skin. Even Pike, with his lavishing of jewels and dresses and other precious gifts upon her, never made it past the first layer of her epidermis. She wasn't cold or calculating like many women could be nor was she prudish or severe, she just never allowed anyone, least of all men, to get too close. Her friend Gaila affectionately referred to her as Estella from the Dickens novel _Great Expectations_, a woman incapable of love. Camille was sure she was capable of loving; she just didn't want to take the chance to ever find out. Love was a messy affair; she'd rather keep the business of the personal simple, concise and ordered with a flair for the eccentric when appropriate.

It was in this set of rules that Pike was astoundingly appropriate, though his incessant doting and imagined relationship with her always proved a point of contention. As she stated to Spock, she belonged to no man, least of all Pike. The fierce independence and dogged ambition was what afforded her the finer things in life, like her pied-a-terre, her wardrobe, and days free from office work, which she refused to ever do. Her immense beauty allowed her to be discriminating as people tended to give her everything that she wanted. And her undeniable intelligence and poise gave her a worldliness and ethereal sensuality that men found irresistible. All of the perfect qualities and she could read men like the skin they were printed on. She knew their needs and unspoken desires and gave them exactly what they demanded, a glimpse of life with the perfect woman. She loved her life and its alluring freedoms. Being bound to no one offered her simple responsibility to herself and that was all. Yet, there was Spock pushing himself urgently to the front of her thoughts instead of staying politely in her subconscious where she could remain blissfully unaware of his existence.

The urgency in which she wanted to smell his woodsy scent, and feel his enveloping warmth frightened her to no end. The sensation was not yet anxiety but akin to the annoyance felt when something was _Presque vu_, almost seen but not easily recollected. She would continue on in her daily routine but somehow in those quiet moments return to the Vulcan's actions, expounded to her fictional reaction, which she desperately played in fantastical detail. Pike, at one point when she'd drifted away during conversation with him, asked her if she was on the verge of a sneeze. Apparently her face at the moment had construed itself into a mask of great torment, her psyche obviously at odds with the roguish thoughts so unfamiliar roaming through her head. She needed a resolution, a simple solution to the problem that Spock had caused. She needed to reconcile her lapse of judgment and confront him with indiscriminant candor and without interruption. Once more, she had to see him again.

A feel of blank relief came over her as she realized what she needed to do. Coming back to her senses, she stared down into the coffee, shaking the cup and watching frothy, light brown swirls and whirls which had gone cold with waiting. Standing from the table she returned her coffee cup to the kitchen and wandered back to her bedroom into the acutely tidy walk-in closet. Surrounded on both sides by her extensive designer wardrobe of ready-to-wear, vintage and modern haute couture from her favorite designers, she thought on the perfect outfit for her confrontation.

The herb-scented, cool morning breeze was gradually turning into the mid-morning waft toasted by the high, bright sun. There were many birds chirping now, and the sky was blue and clear. It was a perfect spring day, one desperate for her Michael Kors citrine chiffon sleeveless dress, which stopped two inches above her knees with modest shortness. She turned to the accessory wall of her closet and chose a chocolate-brown snakeskin belt to better accentuate and separate the empire waist of the dress from the A-line skirt. With the belt matched perfectly the oversized, snakeskin Hermes Birkin Bag and the chocolate brown wide-brimmed sun hat of closely hand-woven sweet grass. The shoes were simple Chanel rounded-toe 3-inch heels, of Italian leather died in soft yellow not as intense of the citrine dress. The jewelry was classic and extravagant canary diamond and iridescent brown pearl earrings and single strand brown pearl necklace. The reflection in her full-length instantly brought a smile to her face as she leaned towards the glass and applied a ruddy brown to her lips and pursed a kiss towards her likeness.

She sprayed a few puffs of her French perfume onto the pulse points of her wrist and behind her ears, the only perfume that she'd personally tailored to her body chemistry on her trip to Nice. She closed the doors to the terrace, placed the sun hat on her head and grabbed the keys to her car.

_Lipstick_ was the name she affectionately gave to her cherry red Audi S5 Cabriolet. It was unknown to all that she owned a car, including the great country of Canada. She'd registered the car under a different name so as to have no ties to it. Inside the glove compartment she kept a passport with the registered name and the other papers needed to make the car legal. She'd never been stopped, mainly because she rarely drove. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd driven since her moving to Montreal. Pike always had a car pick her up. But true to her nature, there was a sense of independence, and she knew that she wasn't going to be getting picked up by white Rolls Royce's forever, so she bought a car. Besides, a lady such as her was not going to take public transportation; Birkin bags and bus commutes did not mesh in the slightest.

It was eleven o' clock when she hopped into her car, starting the beautiful red machine and activating the convertible drop-top. The hat remained on her head as to keep her long locks from flying into frenzy. She wanted to look wind-blown not hurricane swept when she arrived at the _Artful Dodger. _Within a twenty minute time-span she was pulling into the parking lot between a cream, vintage Jaguar, which she instantly knew was Spock's and an Aston Martin V8 Volante. She took one look at her makeup in the rearview mirror and exited her vehicle, walking with annoyance, anxiousness, and urgency into the multi-colored Victorian store front.

She entered, the bell chimed and was greeted with a very Terran, unrecognizable blue-eyed male lounging behind the front counter. Upon hearing the bell he straightened up and greeted her with a Russian-accented hello. The boy was no older than seventeen and poignantly nervous around women.

"How are you doing today?" he asked his Russian accent thick and intriguing. She didn't remove her hat, only sat her Birkin upon the counter and spoke in smooth, fluid words.

"I need to meet with Spock, is he in?"

"Yes, he is in his office. Let me see if he will has time to come down. My name is Pavel Chekov, do not hesitate to ask if you need assistance," he said before disappearing up the stairs to summon his boss. She waited for only a moment until she heard both men descending the steps. She turned around just in time to see Spock stopping three stairs from the first floor landing and looking at her. She thought a ghost of a smile lit his lips, but it was fleeting. His eyes twinkled, however, which gave her pause. In that moment she realized it had been a bad idea to come to the store. Seeing him in Dior Flat-front slacks, a white shirt, and Yves St. Laurent green V-neck sweater almost made her weak in the knees. She closed her eyes, exhaled and stiffened her resolved.

"Mr Spock," she said as a greeting, stepping towards him and up onto the first step, standing just under him.

"Mademoiselle," he acknowledged, "It is remarkably pleasant to see you again. Did you come to retrieve the book?"

"I did not, I actually came to have an audience with you if you have the time in your busy schedule," she smiled up and removed the hat, smoothing the errant strands of hair down onto her head. He licked his lips as he took her in, a shot of lust passing like lightning over his eyes. He smoothly reached into his pants pocket and glanced at an antique pocket watch, and then just as smoothly replaced it leaving only the delicate platinum chain visible.

"I have a spur-of-the moment lunch meeting with a former client that wishes to discuss urgent matters, it seems. However, your presence breeds necessity and I cannot imagine having this meeting without you," Spock said, walking past her down the steps and grabbing his lightweight jacket from the coat hanger. She turned, following his motions with her eyes.

"I do not wish to intrude," she said, lying, wishing very much to intrude on this meeting that Spock was having. She needed to get some things straight within herself and from him. There was no way either of them could continue on in this manner. She was returned with an arched eyebrow, an expression she'd never known to be so multi-faceted. She watched him check quickly for his wallet in his jacket pocket and heard the jangling of keys in his hand.

"I do not believe that will be a problem. I am confident that my former client will have no protest," he turned slightly towards the exit, signaling to her that he was leaving. Spock did not move, however, until Camille walked stolidly in front of him. With the precision of a gentleman he guided her pace with a firm yet tender palm on the small of her back. The warmth of his fingertips leaked through the thin chiffon of her breezy dress and she felt herself go slightly weak with both surprise and acute yearning.

"Mr. Chekov, please monitor the store in my absence," Spock said, as he opened the front door of the store and ushered Camille through it. Chekov acknowledged him with a squeaky yes and Spock exited the building, almost overcome by the vision that awaited him on the outside steps. The wind fanned the hem of her dress only subtly and also danced wistfully with the errant strands of her loose hair. The citrine yellow complimented her brown skin, almost melting like sugary chocolate in the sun. He caught hold of himself and joined her at the bottom of the steps.

"Your car or mine?" she asked as they strolled towards the parking lot.

"As you do not know the destination, I will be happy to drive," Spock said, walking towards his car and unlocking the passenger side door and holding it open for her. It was instinctual for her to flirt and this was no different. She slid gracefully, leg first and back arched suggestively into the passenger seat. She closed her eyes as their bodies managed to pass without touching, which made the tension all the more erotic. The intake of his breath caused by her closeness and her perfume made her smirk as she made herself comfortable in the plush leather seat.

"Thank you for allowing me to accompany you, I know this is quite short notice," she said, replacing the hat on her head as he started the car and wheeled out of the parking lot. He drove a lot faster than she would have expected.

"I would have it no other way," his voice was sincere with an austere lilt as he shifted into high gear moving briskly through the streets of downtown Montreal towards the more secluded neighborhood known as _The Plateau. _The neighborhood used to be working class until gentrification took over in the latter half of the 22nd Century. In the ever-growing borough one could physically witness the precarious balance between the old and new. The working-class cottages that once stood as a staple of the laissez-faire were replaced by the modern townhouse and loft apartments interspersed with small shops, lounges, and the occasional café. Spock was grateful that the area was pleasantly desolate at this early hour, generally filling with the art savant and philosophers discussing politics, art, and food and other such Bohemian fairs. It wasn't uncommon to hear rile of a conversation gone too passionate spill out chaotically onto the streets.

Spock drove briskly down the main street of the borough and made a few sharp turns to a more secluded portion of the neighborhood and parallel parked in front of a very small, unassuming restaurant that was housed in one of the original cottages from the earlier days of the neighborhood. A sign proclaimed the name _"Le Orchidée"_ or simply the Orchid. He opened the door and helped Camille from the vehicle, their hands touching, and causing sparks of electric hunger to jolt through both of them. They didn't part hands until Spock opened the door for her to enter the cottage, and only then did he move his hand to the small of her back.

The unassuming exterior of the restaurant gave way to something more surprising once entering the front door. The intimate setting was brighter than any would have expected in a small-windowed cottage. The owners definitely worked quite hard to make use of what little natural lighting that they had, and had done a spectacular job. Bamboo hardwood roamed over the expanse of the whole of the front of the house. White linen tablecloths adorned two-seater café tables, surrounded by cushioned and white upholstered fan-backed chairs. Upon each table a dainty scattering of orchid petals in white and lavender. The place was almost empty, and those that were there were seated in small corners talking in intimate whispers so low as to seem conspiratorial.

At the front, just after entering the door was a small hostess stand and a coat-check for those bitterly cold Montreal winters. Camille was glad that today was not one of those strangely cold spring days, where she could see the frost of her breath in the air. Today was the perfect day for taking a midday luncheon in an exquisitely secluded and intimate bistro. The cheerful atmosphere that had escaped her on her frantic ride to the _Artful Dodger _returned in full as she and Spock were led past the front of the house and back onto a secluded patio that contained only one table and a plethora of breathtakingly extravagant orchids.

Camille was a connoisseur of the flower and thought she knew every hybrid within its species. She had been gladly mistaken, for there were colors and shapes, varieties great and small that jumped and bounced with great abandoned in pots, jutting over the doors, erected from the ground just to express their radiant colors. She barely caught her breath, falling into her chair with graceless wonder; her eyes trying to estimate the amount of beautiful flowers were housed on the patio. She scanned quickly, her eyes catching with her patiently waiting escort. She smiled charmingly at him and closed her eyes, inhaling. The single table where they were seated only housed two chairs; the space was meant for maximum intimacy, a simple seduction of the eyes. One thing was clear to Camille, there was not going to be a meeting between Spock and his former client.

"You are quite sly," she said, taking up the delicate crystal glass that held her water. She took a small sip, licking her lips. Spock arched an eyebrow at her.

"We can leave if you wish," he added, offering her an out. He wanted her to understand that she was safe. Though she was tricked, she was far from trapped. He would grant her any wish, though he dearly hoped that she would allow them lunch.

"You could have just asked me to lunch, Spock," she said with soft eyes and mischievous smile, eating up the scene.

"It is my understanding that women tend to enjoy spontaneity. However, you are no ordinary woman, so I may have overstepped my boundaries," his face gave nothing away and Camille was finding that she rather enjoyed the crispness of his placid features in the faint natural light. His facial cues, though subtle, were becoming easier to read, especially when she focused on the deep and soulful brown eyes. She realized that it was cliché to call the eyes a window to the soul and thoughts of man, but in reference to Spock never a truer idiom was coined.

"Were there boundaries? I remember quite vividly an expertly-placed kiss that skirted limits. Comparatively, this abduction is tame," she joked, taking a sip from her water. She didn't look at him after she replaced her glass onto the table. She licked her lips and let her manicured nail run over the rim of the glass in circular motions. Spock's eyes caught her movements and he was transfixed with the delicate sensuality. The way the water beaded against the glass and justly against her skin, sliding down her hand in small, slick rivulets that died in synchronized droplets upon the linen tablecloth just before reaching her slim wrist.

"If there were no boundaries, a kiss would have been the least of your vivid memories of that night, I assure you," Spock said the words with a matter-of-fact flair, as if he were explaining how to tie one's shoe rather than touting his expert skills in seduction.

"Boundaries are set for the reason of defense. It is reckless to push too far," the mischievous flirt inside of her emerging with zeal and force.

"Indeed, but boundaries must be tested in order to gauge the level of defensive fortitude. My intent is not to render the queen defenseless..." Spock recognized the change in tone and pacing of their words from simple conversation into verbal foreplay.

"Then what _is _your intent, Mr. Spock?" she batted her eyelashes and leaned in closer, the front of her dress dropping only slightly lower than what was modest. Spock allowed himself a tiny glance at the smooth skin of her cleavage and allowed himself a quick fantasy of resting his head in solace upon the soft mounds.

"Immunity, so there is no need for defenses," Spock concluded. Any other extensions of the overdone metaphor were to be saved and reused another day, for a small and unassuming waiter placed a static pause in the flow of conversation. Camille watched and listened to Spock as he ordered for the both of them. She was aware that Vulcan diet was vegetarian, and yet he included two orders of the lemon and fennel sole fillets among the vegetable tapas. Spock also ordered a bottle of what was termed as the _Special de Chambre. _There was a grace and charm to the way that Spock presented himself. He emitted a level of class and intelligence not hindered by the usual classist snobbery or the Vulcan condescension. Spock was incessantly polite, aridly witty, effortlessly pleasant, and once revealed explicitly corporeal. He was the very epitome of not judging a book by its cover; and if Camille allowed herself to be swayed by her emotions, she would have to admit to feeling the luxurious tugs of infatuation.

The waiter conversed more with Spock in French, making simple small talk as the Vulcan was a regular. The waiter gathered the single-sided cream placard that was considered the menu and left the table to retrieve the special wine that Spock had ordered. Camille and Spock sat in comfortable silence, their eyes locked in a dance of mutual lusty thoughts tempered by a deeper need for stimulating conversation. His eyes told her plainly what he'd already spoken aloud – that he wanted her. The slow slope and the errant twinkle in those honey brown orbs not only telling her that he wanted her, but inviting her to let him have her, let him take her, all of her. She watched his eyes as they left contact with her own and wandered to her lips, her neck, to the slope and rise of her cleavage, and to a more abstract place between her legs and then back up to her eyes. Spock neither begged nor bragged, he simply stated fact. The offer was so tempting and too perfect, which was why she could never take him up on it.

The waiter returned with two wine glasses and a chilled ochre-brown bottle that was unlabeled. With trained precision the waiter popped the cork from the bottle, emitting instantly a strong fragrance into the air. Setting down the bottle and allowing Spock to do the honors of pouring, the waiter disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived. Camille took the offered glass and smelled the familiar fragrance. The scent was spicy at first, very pungent, but with a strange, feathery lightness at the edges that allowed one to close their eyes. Despite the intensity of the spicy beginning, the sent mellowed and changed the longer it lingered in the air.

"The scent is so familiar," Camille said taking a sip, closing her eyes to exquisitely mellow flavor that hit her tongue. She was so tantalized by the wonderful taste and its familiarity that she hadn't realized that she'd almost drank her whole glass.

"I see that it is quite pleasing," Spock deadpanned, "I am pleased that I decided to drive as this is quite strong and alcohol does not affect me as it does you."

"It's delicious and so eerily familiar," she searched her brain, slowing her sipping and closing her eyes to think. She could feel the alcohol mixed with the aphrodisiac of Spock and the pleasant scent all conspiring together. Camille took another sip, this time allowing herself to open up her nose and breath, tasting the wine properly. She swirled the wine over her tongue, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes to concentrate. The images she associated with the scent were calming and familiar, like her flat The answer to her longing came over her just as serenely as the taste that lingered over her tongue and lips.

"Cattleya wine," she said, swallowing the smooth liquid and opening her eyes to meet her escorts.

"Indeed. I knew you would deduce the flavor," Spock poured her another glass for her efforts.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Spock," she took up the drink and took a hearty sip.

"I pour; it is up to you whether you wish to drink. Moreover, I do not need to get you soused in order to bed you, if that is your implication."

"Is that what this is, a feeble attempt at getting me into bed?" she sat up straight and squared off with him.

"This? No, this is lunch. Likewise, you came to me wishing to converse, I merely provided us with a more pleasing venue than my office," Spock finished his first glass and poured himself another, finishing the bottle. He nodded to the waiter coolly, motioning to the bottle. The waiter acknowledged and disappeared.

"I wish to explain to you my relationship with Christopher so that you understand completely. I do not want there to be any misconceptions. Spock, you are a very charming man. I enjoy our repartee and look forward to much more in the future, however," Camille was cut off by the waiter approaching and removing the cork from another bottle of Cattleya wine. Camille exchanged and awkward grin with the waiter as he sat the bottle down and Spock topped off her glass and poured himself another.

"However?" Spock continued Camille's previous thought.

"I think you know what I'm going to say," her tone was more somber than she truly intended. Spock's eyes hadn't left her face, evident that he was giving her his undivided attention. He narrowed his eyes slightly, took a quick sip of his wine, cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Are you and Pike lovers?" Spock asked plainly. She broke eye contact, the thoughts in her head swirling heavily.

"It's complicated," she finally answered, not really knowing how to explain.

"I have the ability to understand abstract thought," Spock responded in a means to push her towards explanation. She waited to respond, allowing her mind to swing back and forth over the pendulum of things she wished to tell him and those she needed to keep private. When she'd finally stilled her mind enough to speak, she was interrupted by the arrival of their lunch. Thusly, all of her heart's intent dissipated over the aroma of sweet potato compote and fennel sole fillets.

They ate in virtual silence, both fearing what the breeching of the nervous calm would provide on such a beautiful setting. Disappointment always came when the environment was beautiful, Spock mused. There was never a time when the settings mirrored the emotions involved. The complexity of the situation was one of if his delusional happiness in her presence was what blinded him to the fact that this meeting was meant to put an end to their budding affections. He took a bite of his fish and decided to allow the silence to linger.

"That was delicious," she said pushing away an empty plate. Spock finished as well, not responding, but watching her body language carefully. She'd no intention on explanation. The moment had ended.

"I'm glad that you enjoyed it," he responded. He motioned to the waiter to bring the check and Camille made no impression that she was averse to leaving. The check was delivered, Spock pulled bills from his wallet to pay and cover tip, and they stood and walked in silence back to his car.

The ride back to _The Artful Dodger _was no different.

She waited for him to come to her side and open the door. He allowed her space to step out and he noted that she had her keys in hand, a silent motion of her intent to not linger in his presence any longer. He could not truthfully convince himself that he was not disappointed.

"Spock," she finally spoke, rounding behind him to get to her car that he'd parked conveniently next to. He turned and tried to back away from her, but a hand around his neck brought him in direct contact with her lips. He was a quick learner, and did not hesitate to wrap his arms around her waist to pull her closer and deepen the kiss. She tasted like the Cattleya wine and something that was uniquely her. And as she used her teeth to nibble on the fullness of his bottom lip, he took the advantage of her open mouth and slipped his tongue into hers and lowered his hands from her waist to her buttocks, squeezing the soft, full globes. She did not protest. In fact, she elicited a soft moan from the back of her throat that signaled her need for more intimate closeness.

He knew these feminine cues expertly, and lifted her from the ground and higher against his body. Her legs rounded his waist instinctually. He pulled away only to lower his kisses to her neck and trap her fully between his growing hardness and the driver's side of her car.

"This is crazy," she whispered, inclining her head backward and allowing him further access to a spot that she'd never knew was so sensitive. In response to her words, Spock smoothed his hands under her dress and up her thighs. His explorations of the soft skin ended with a cupping of her sex outside of her thin, lace panties, which were covered in the wetness of her arousal.

"If you do not stop me now, I assure you I will take you in this public arena," he said before he pushed the top of her dress aside with his nose and took a brown nipple in-between his pink lips. She clawed at the hood of her car so hard that she left scratch marks. She was inclined to continue, despite her better judgment. It had been a long time since a man had allowed her sensibilities to be fleeting. She assumed he was much the same. Neither was used to feeling overwhelmed by their passions, and both were playing this dangerous game, daring the other to call an end. They were travelling at the speed of a freight train, both of them blissfully unaware that the track was unfinished ahead. He slipped a finger inside of her underwear and found her clit, the sensation making her grip his head harder and closer to her nipple. He manipulated the small bud of nerves with practiced skill causing her body to shake involuntarily as she neared climax.

"Don't stop," she ordered, and if Spock's mouth had been free to speak, he would have told her that he had no intention of doing so. He slipped a finger inside of her as he continued to work her from outside. She tightened her legs around his waist and thrust her body down onto his hand, gripping his shoulders for leverage. He looked up at her face – mouth slack, eyes lidded but fierce with concentration, her bottom lip between her teeth – and was almost paralyzed by the beauty. He watched as her eyes rolled back, she threw her head back and moaned, climaxing hard on his hand. He continued his ministrations, riding her orgasm out with her until her body only shuddered in minute aftershock. He rested his head against her breasts, listening to her heartbeat, the dull thud a loud stomp in his ears.

It felt like hours before he removed his hand from inside of her and helped her set her shaky legs on the ground. He pulled away from her, despite the persistence of his hardness and licked his fingers of her essence. She was sweeter than the wine and far more intoxicating. She watched him tasting his fingers, and despite the sex-numb fog of her brain, put a hand of warning against his chest and stared him in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Spock… I can't," she said between shaky breaths. She turned, noticing that her keys were on the top of her car. Thankful that she hadn't dropped them, she grabbed them with intent to open her door and run away. She felt his warm body against her back and an enduring and sizable erection against the crevice of her ass. She closed her eyes and felt the humidity of his breath against her ear before she heard the dark baritone of his words:

"You taste divine, how can you expect me to stay away from you now?" Spock asked in desperation. He ground his lower half into her ass and was returned with a satisfying throaty moan.

"You like that," he challenged, pumping into her covered backside once again.

"You're a Vulcan…" she trailed off as he ground into her once again, her next word becoming a sigh in the back of her throat. Her rational mind was absolutely disappointed in her, and she tried to slake that side of her with protests about how good Spock felt.

"Indeed I am, with the lust of that species as well. A lust you should become acquainted with… just say the words,' he nipped her ear and she backed herself into him, surprised as he grew even harder and larger. She knew that they would be astounding together; evident by how good it felt with their clothes on. But her rationality won the match and she swallowed her lust as deeply as she possibly could.

"We can't," she said, a hitch in her breath belying the seriousness of her intent. She slammed her fist that contained her keys into the top of her car and the slight pain cleared her head just enough for her to pull from his grasp. Without another word, she opened her car, jumped in and sped off quickly, leaving a semi-erect, green-flushed Vulcan standing alone in the parking lot of his business establishment.

Spock leaned down with his hands on his knees, closing his eyes, willing his hardness to subside, rustling all of his Vulcan control to do so. He straightened his clothing and walked toward _The Artful Dodger _with a slight hitch in his step. He entered the establishment without so much as a glance at Chekov, and passing quickly hurried to his office, locking the door and exhaling

"What the fuck was that about?" Spock was only slightly shocked as he heard Jim's voice behind him. Upon turning around, he noted his friend sitting at his desk with a smug expression upon his face. Jim out-rightly guffawed as he noted the subsiding yet noticeable bulge Spock was still sporting.

"I had an insurmountable urge to be alone in my office," Spock cleared his throat and found a chair. He needed to sit down.

"I would too if I'd just dry humped and fingered one of the hottest women I've ever met in the middle of an open parking lot. Not your wisest decision by the way," Jim praised and chided.

"I agree."

"I'll admit, from this vantage point, she has great tits and looks to know how to handle your jolly green, but I've never seen you so stupid. What _is _it about this woman, Spock?" Jim asked.

"I wish I knew the answer to your question, Jim."

"Well, you better figure it out soon. We have a team meeting tomorrow and I need _Le Chevalier _in working order to discuss the next move in our commissioned job," Jim stood and walked from behind the desk and clapped his friend on the back.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Try to get some sleep," Jim exited quickly after that. Spock didn't even watch as his friend left, his mind was too awash with what had occurred between him and Camille. Shaking his head and freeing his mind of those thoughts, Spock decided to flood himself in plans for retrieving the Ruby Pendant.

He sat behind his desk and brought up schematics of Pike's chateau, studying various vulnerabilities in its makeup and assessing areas where blind doors and passageways would be. He spent two hours doing this without breaking concentration, the only thing stopping him was the sound of his communicator. He picked it up and was greeted by nothing but silence. He knew exactly who it was.

"Camille."

"Spock, don't talk, just listen. Our actions of today were a mistake. There are reasons, Pike being one of them, why you and I can never be. I'm sorry I cannot provide you with a better explanation, but that is all I can give you. Please, put everything that has occurred between us… put me, out of your head entirely," before Spock could formulate an answer, he heard the sound of her hanging up and then nothing but dead air.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"_A thief passes for a gentleman when stealing has made him rich" – Anonymous_

The chime of the grandfather clock seemed incessant and annoying to the four gentlemen that sat in silence. Each of their faces was strewn in intense concentration and had been so for more than two hours. Sprinkled about in the second room of _The Artful Dodger_, each man felt the growing tension of frustration, brought on by their fearless leader, _Le Chevalier's _inability to concentrate on the task at hand. Sulu, Scotty, Jim all stared blankly at Spock, who was staring just as blankly back at them. There was nothing in the Vulcan's deep eyes, except static. This kind of behavior had been cycling off and on for the whole of the meeting.

"I think he's broken," Scotty waved his hand in front of Spock's face, causing the Vulcan to blink back to life.

"_LC, _no offense, but what the fuck is your deal?" Sulu asked, at his wit's end, his eyes boring into Spock's, who was still vaguely aware that his friend was speaking with him.

"Hikaru, cut him some slack, he's Puss-essed," Jim said clapping Sulu around the shoulder and handing the frustrated man a drink.

"Oh, there is only one lass that could do it to 'em like this. That russet-hued Jezebel…"

"To be fair, Monte, he did it to himself," Jim quickly interrupts.

"What'd he go and do?" Scotty asks, looking at a semi-dazed Spock.

"What happened, Spock?" Sulu rounds out the rest of the group. They are met back by duller eyes and Spock opening and closing his mouth trying to collect his thoughts to form words and failing miserably.

"He looks like those Big Mouth Bass singing wall-hangings that this guy tried to hock to us a few weeks ago," Jim commented.

"Only this is more rare; a speechless Vulcan," Sulu remarks.

"Let's bask in the glory, while Jim relays us with the latest gossip." Scotty joked.

"I was up here writing _LC_ a note about today's meeting, when I hear his car pull up and hear a feminine voice. So I turn to look down and what do I see but her pulling him into a kiss so French that their tonsils were screaming _Vive Le Revolucion_. Our boy, being the smooth bastard that he is, uses the small space between his car and her car as their secret bedroom. He got her up against the car, legs wrapped around him, hands disappearing up her skirt, mouth full of perfect nipples, and she comes after bouncing down on his fingers like a wild man. And then they start grinding, but she catches some sense because she's engaged to Pike and they're in public, so she drives off leaving Spock with blue… er… um… or whatever color they turn when you're left hard as a diamond with no release in sight."

"Ah, I understand what the problem is then, lad. First time left standing can be quite nerve wracking."

"Yeah, all you do is sit there and think about what you'd do to her once you get her behind closed doors. It's a bitch," Jim added.

"You've got to snap out of it, Spock. We have a job to do. Pike's fortress is armed to the teeth and only you know the vulnerabilities. So get the pussy off your brain and set it to these schematics," Sulu reasoned. Spock closed his eyes, exhaled roughly and turned his eyes and his mind as best he could to the schematics placed on the table.

It was late in the evening and they were all stuck on a specific problem that Spock hadn't been mentally present to address. Pike was known to have three different vaults in three opposing wings of his mansion. In addition, he kept two replicas of the Ruby Pendant in two of the vaults, making it nigh impossible for a thief to decipher where and what they were stealing. It had been Spock's security idea, one that he was now mentally kicking himself as it posed the current problem. Spock struck a charismatic figure pouring over the schematics of Pike's home. One hand on his hip, the other resting over a vulnerable spot, his weight evenly dispensed but relaxed and his eyes intense and slightly squinted.

"If Pike were smart, and he is, he probably rotates the pendants from vault to vault," Spock finally spoke.

"That adds another problem, Spock, we need solutions," Jim chimed.

"Pike is a creature of habit and he is also human. The replicas are remarkably well done; the one Camille was wearing the night of the ball was, in fact, too well done," Spock started to walk around the room as if he were holding congress; his hands clasped behind his back.

"Too well done?" Scotty chimed.

"Indeed. The story is that the Czarina it was gifted to was tomboyish and enjoyed rough play with her older brothers. The day she was gifted with the pendant, she and the others in the Romanov brood were playing a colloquial game called _Red Duck_, much like the standardized _Hide and Seek_."

"A history lesson? Your answer lies in a history lesson?" Sulu snarks. Spock, continued, ignoring Sulu's comment.

"This young Czarina decided to hide in the high branches of a tree, but slipped and fell down some branches and almost to her detriment but was caught by the Ruby Pendant's strong galvanized steel chain, causing a small separation, miniscule, between the gold setting and the ruby. This imperfection cannot be reproduced and gives us our way to tell the real pendants from the fake ones."

"But how do we figure out which vault it's in?" Sulu asked.

"Jim?" Spock hands the floor over to his friend, both locking eyes; Jim smiling.

"Easy. We case the joint. We monitor the day of rotation, which is likely to be on the same day every week per _LC _over there, and simply monitor which vault Pike visits more in the week. It is his prized possession after all."

"So that puts us at three weeks _go time _tops, correct?" Scotty asks.

"Yes, and if I'm not mistaken, I do believe that there is a masked ball being held around that same time, which would be great cover for a heist such as this," Jim says rubbing his hands together.

"So the plan is to what? Visit Pike?" Sulu asked.

"Yes, and be observant," Spock added, "Meeting adjourned."

Sulu was quick to grab his belongings and quickly exit. It had been an overlong meeting and he had plenty of social engagements to attend to for his business. Scotty helped himself to another glass of Scotch and listened as Jim and Spock talked personal.

"You need to snap out of it, Spock. She's not yours, it was a one time thing and we need _Le Chevalier _firing on all cylinders."

"Do not worry about me, Jim, I am perfectly capable of performing my duties when need be."

"The hell you are! This whole meeting was spent with us trying to get your head out of Camilles ass long enough to solve this problem. She's just a girl, Spock. She's another man's girl. As a matter of fact, she's the reason why we're bending the rules for this _Doctor _character."

"What would you have me do, Jim?"

"Turn down the obsessive, possessive about women Vulcan side and start thinking like the criminal genius that I know. PLEASE!"

"Gentlemen, I think I have the solution," Scotty chimed in with a wide smile and procuring a nondescript business card from his pocket with a simple ten-digit com number on it. He handed the business card to Spock who eyed it carefully.

"Monte have you completely lost your mind?" Jim asked.

"No, I have the solution to your problem, Spock," Scotty stood up straight and clasped his hands behind his back mimicking Spock's normal stance.

"Mocking my mannerisms is your solution."

"Alas, it is not. Now, every man and Vulcan knows that the one thing that trumps old pussy is new pussy."

"Yes, but this number…" Spock started.

"Jim?" Scotty offered up, mimicking Spock once again.

"That is the number to an escort service, Spock. It's a good idea. It will get your mind off of… what ails you," Jim clapped his friend on the back.

"I've never paid for sex and…"

"Never say never, Spock. The ladies are _To Order, _reasonably priced, and most importantly discreet. All you do is call them up, place your order, do your thing, pay the lass, and send her on her way. We've all used it before, in situations such as these. Besides, you owe it to your team to get laid before this lass screws us all up."

"Yeah, you can't have all that man-chowder clogging up your brain when you're trying to steal a priceless jewel. So order a chick that looks like Camille, lay your head on her titties that you've been daydreaming about all day and come back refreshed. That's an order," both Jim and Scotty grabbed their things and exited leaving Spock standing in the middle of his store holding the business card.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"_I believe that sex is one of the most beautiful, natural, wholesome things that money can buy." – Steve Martin_

Spock sat stilly in the nutmeg Chesterfield waiting for the chime on his door to sound. Despite all of his Vulcan calm he idly allowed his nerves to manifest in the melodic strumming of his fingernails against the upholstered armrest. He inhaled deeply wishing that he had one of Jim's cigars to calm his nerves. He'd taken Scotty's advice and the number the man had given and used it for its intentions, and now he sat quietly waiting for the lady to arrive that would assuage his arousal. This was, after all, the most logical course, to procure an escort for the evening. Le Chevalier needed to be in top form within two days, which meant no straying thoughts and no messy, uncontrolled emotions.

These feelings showed the intensity liken to Pon Farr, arousing him to a point of near insanity. Never before had he felt so undoubtedly amorous. In all his other experiences he'd been angry, emotional, uncontrollably demonstrative; never so sexually stimulated. The incident earlier that day where he'd lashed out at both Scotty and Jim was more the norm when he was experiencing sexual frustration. His incessant daydreams about the softness of Nyota's breasts were uncommon, however. Spock didn't daydream. It was apparent to Spock and to everyone else that his body was relaying an important message: Spock needed to fuck. And if this was Pon Farr, making a jaunt to Vulcan was not a feasible option. Scotty was a good and noble friend as were Jim and Hikaru. All three were gracious gentleman and auspicious business partners, able to keep their heads inside of the chaos that was their chosen profession. Moreover, Spock trusted their judgment, knowing that none of them would steer him in the wrong direction. Spock was never one to purchase sex, he'd never had to in the past and he always assumed that he never would. Spock was beginning to think that the word "never" should be eradicated from the English language altogether.

A low chime alerted him to the person at the door, no doubt his recent purchase. Despite the growing hunger and need, Spock hesitated, not able to move from the chair. It wasn't until the chime rang a second time that Spock found the courage to stand and walk towards his door, stopping in his foyer mirror to check his appearance before unlocking the door to his prize. The Vulcan inhaled deeply, twisted the knob and opened the door. His body froze and he felt his heart skip a beat in his side. A tsunami of shock washed over him, threatening to drown all his sensibilities. There she stood, her hair curled and pinned up, her makeup simple yet alluring, red lips drawn together in a pout. A thin, black Gucci dress clung to her curvy form, stopping just underneath the meeting of her thighs. She wore knee high black, leather boots that left only a three inch gap of creamy, brown thighs visible. Lust overcame shock as Spock stared her down, his pulse quickening and his _lok _springing to life.

If he hadn't been so transfixed on his own need, Spock would have noticed and deciphered each expression that traveled across Camille's face. Her mind was swimming with questions and confusion, and in an instance the flash of all emotions she was feeling presented on her face. Just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone. This was her profession, Spock was her job for tonight and she would conduct this like any other job. Standing taller and arching he back, she waltzed past Spock (who still hadn't spoken a word), into his flat, slowly dragging her index finger across his perfect lips as she passed.

"Were you ever gonna invite me in?" she asked, pouring herself a brandy from a crystal decanter. She was courteous and poured Spock one as well; this was a conversation that was going to need a drink.

"Why are you here?" he asked. Spock wracked his brain for any logical answer other than the most obvious and easier one. She regarded him with bemusement, an eyebrow upturned and her lips following suit. Clearing her throat, she shrugged off her purse, grabbed the two glasses of brandy and slinked back towards Spock. Her eyes locked with his and she saw something equal to fear. He definitely needed the drink. She finally crossed the small expanse, moving with timed precision, the sway of her hips hypnotizing Spock almost to the point that he'd forgotten he'd asked a question. She was so close to him, their eyes still locked like a sharpshooter and a target. The five-inch heels put her lips just underneath his, so that all she had to do was crane her neck upwards and they would kiss. Her lips were so close to his that the humidity of her breath tingled the start of his five o' clock shadow, a warm and sweet sensation that sent intense rivulets of pleasure so deep into the core of him that he allowed his eyes to slip closed.

"Didn't you call for a girl?" she responded, her voice light and breathy. He didn't open his eyes and she watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed whole gulps of the air. It didn't seem possible, but she moved in closer, letting the round plumpness of her breast to graze the heated expanse of his chest. He could feel the small poke of her hardened, covered nipple and a moan escaped him.

"I did," he responded in a lame attempt to disguise the moan. She moved her head from in front of him to his side, her lips close to his ear. She breathed against the smooth, solid skin of his throat as she allowed her pelvis to press against his. She could feel his semi-hardened member jerk against the welcomed warmth of her inner thigh and she chuckled low and throaty.

"I'm your girl," she said the word slowly accentuating the last part with a flick of her tongue against the pointed tip of his ear. She obviously hit a sensitive spot because he grabbed her deltoids and slowly moved her away from his body. His eyes were open though half-lidded with lust as he tried to regain composure over his body. She backed away half a step more in order to allow him more personal space, making them a little less than arm's length. In a formal gesture, she placed the brandy glass into his hand, the coolness of the crystal a shock to Spock's already over-stimulated system. His eyes batted open and he forced himself to lock them with hers. They stared at one another across the small space, words not finding a place to fit between them. Spock downed the brandy in a swift swallow and marched past her to pour himself another. He took half of that down and then turned to stare daggers into her.

Camille knew this look well. Judgment was a warm and welcoming mask to her, one she'd seen on many faces. And yet the glare of disappointment that darted from his eyes resonated so strongly within her that only regret for tonight she knew would be the lasting victor. She drank the rest of her brandy, and despite her normal reticence against disdainful condescending, she felt indebted to the man that stood in front of her.

She closed her eyes and sighed in defeat, blinking back the tears of embarrassment she felt rising in her eyes and in her throat. It didn't take her much time, but just as poetically as she'd shrugged out of her purse, she grabbed it and made a quick getaway. She was stopped with warm arms wrapped around her middle before her Louiboton Stiletto thigh-high boots could make three consecutive steps. And strangely, she felt her heart sink deeper.

"Why don't you let me go?" she asked with her back still to him. She could feel his elevated Vulcan temperature and the softness of his lips as he ghosted them against the nape of her neck. The soft gesture of his kisses tapered off as she felt the gruff hold of his large hand entangled in the back of her hair.

"Because I will have you, like every other man in Montreal," the one hand stayed in her hair, holding her neck back as the other hand made furious work of her dress, pulling it from her body with ferocity in speed but not enough to tear the garment. She was left standing in a strapless black bra, a black thong, and the thigh-high stiletto boots.

"Do you think I'm ashamed?" she asked mockingly. For her insolence, he pushed her painfully against the arm of the Chesterfield and ground his fully-hardened length into her backside.

"Whore's don't understand shame," he growled, bending her over the armrest of the chair and taking a moment to undo his fly. She felt his warm, long _lok_ resting against her buttocks, and in spite of the reservations she felt about the situation, she arched her back and wiggled her ass against the heaviness of him.

"You're just upset that you weren't the first," she laughed manically, realizing that their games were quickly reaching a point of no return. He gathered her arms behind her back with one large hand and bent her over the chair at an impressive angle. His other hand was buried in her wild hair as he pulled her ear to his mouth and her back into an impossible arch.

"Make no mistake, I will be the last" he bit her neck possessively and thrust into her sharply.

What was meant to be rough and anger-driven stilled as they felt the true weight of the situation. Being inside of her slick folds halted his beating heart, and his eyes closed. The grip on her arms loosened as he felt his grip on reality, on the very edge of what he could control being ripped from him. The pain that she prepared to feel and the sound she was prepared to make was stilled in the back of her throat. Great pleasure radiated through her body and the only sound that left her mouth was a hitched shudder. Her eyes widened upon his initial entry and then softened and rolled into the back of her head as he began the steady, entreating rhythm that would drive them both to insanity.

She relinquished her iron grip on the Chesterfield and snaked her hands up into her hair to connect with his. She pulled those long fingers from her frenzied locks and brought the first two fingers into her mouth to suck deeply. She watched as her actions caused his eyes to tighten and added a third finger.

"Ponfo Mirran," she heard him curse as he pulled from her and turned her around, lifting her by the buttocks and up to his mouth. She wrapped her legs around his neck as he blindly made his way with the both of them to his bed. He threw her down with an animalistic growl and they both made quick work of their clothing, but she left the boots on.

As soon as he'd divested of his briefs, he threw both boot-covered legs over his shoulder and set to finish the job he'd started. His tongue probed her folds, delving in and out of her. He sucked at her lips and teased with his tongue, ignoring the rapidly swelling ball of nerves that she wished him to show attention. He gave one long lick from her labia to her ass and finally rounded his lips on her clit. The sound that erupted from her throat was one she hadn't made in years. And as she bucked her hips against him, he wrapped his arms round her thighs and let her heels dig into his back, sending her into oblivion.

When she returned to her senses, he'd divested her of her boots and was lying on his back, smugly stroking her back, waiting for her. Courteous, as the raging of his passion was evidently high and rigid between his legs.

"It would seem as if we are evenly matched," he whispered into her ear and kissed the lobe tenderly.

"How so?" she asked from a dry throat, and gathered all of her will to turn on him and straddle his hips. He looked up at her with the smug upturning of his bowed lips, challenging her.

"Careful, I am stronger than you," Spock warned. She sat behind his erection and stroked it and brought the bulbous head in contact with her wet center but did not allow him to enter, despite the desperate thrust from below. She rubbed him inside her wetness, teasing him, watching as he gritted his teeth and gathered the bed linens into his large hands. And when she finally sat upon him, it was slow and agonizing and even inside of her own pleasure, she heard the low rumble and moan emanate from his lips.

She moved her hips in slow circular motions, taking him deep inside of her. And to her surprise, he clung to his control. He let his hands slip up her body into her mouth with one hand as the other palmed her breast hungrily. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his strong chest and bounced her pelvis vibrantly upon him. Then she slowed her movements gradually, until she teased the tip of his member with the edge of her wetness and then slid gracefully back onto him.

"Fuck," he came undone with a shudder and tried to use his grip on her hips to still her; she grabbed his wrist and lifted them over his head. He tried to dig his heels in underneath him to flip them over, but without the leverage of his hands he was lost. And her hips moved over him rhythmically, torturing him to orgasm. And when he finally came, she felt a shudder from between her thighs all over her body radiating from his core. He thrashed his head from side to side and begged her to slow down so that he could catch up. The more he begged, the harder she moved on him, squeezing her inner walls to fuck him even harder. And he got warmer and she couldn't believe he got harder, and she felt him come inside of her, flying away and roaring with heavy lungs to the ceiling. It took minutes for him to finally stop shaking. And when he finally opened his eyes, he felt his hair being stroked and his head rested against the breast he'd dreamt about.

It was hours before either of them spoke. The afterglow was so powerful that neither of them wanted to focus on the money that awaited Camille on the table. When sounds were finally made, they were soft coos as they both stretched their tightened limbs that would surely be sore the next day.

"I have something for you," Spock said, leaping from the bed, indiscreet in his nudity. She liked watching him pad out of his bedroom. The sight of his firm, nude posterior moving with the same swift precision it did when clothed sent chills to the very core of her. In the back of her mind she vaguely wondered how a mere antique's dealer had such a muscular frame, but his return and the site of his flaccid and impressive manhood made her lick her lips in spite of herself. She quickly looked up, but his sparkling eyes let her know that she'd been caught staring and that he'd enjoyed being eaten up by her eyes. She doesn't look away, only smolders with their eyes locked in silent wanting. The lust is broken only by the faint motion of Spock pushing forth what is in his hand, a gift for her.

Instantly, she knows that it is the book and smiles warmly at him and takes the fragile tome.

"Camille, muse of my heart. Demon of my soul," Spock allows his hand to sweep across her face softly, and cups her cheek while gingerly pressing her lips with his thumb. He leans in to kiss her, but she places a hand on his chest to stop him. For a moment they both worry if the reality of what is happening between them is nothing but the afterglow. Behind his head she can see the brightly-colored bills on his nightstand, a reminder of what this is. And in front of her, she sees a possibility, and in just that glimmer of hope, she lets her pretenses fade and allows a secret to slip.

"Don't call me that," she says, her head a mix and fray. Spock's eyebrows furrow in confusion. She stops him before he speaks and ruins the moment with a soft kiss.

"I owe you a name, for the book. My name is Uhura. Nyota Uhura," the regret she thought she would feel at this decision doesn't even register. At this, he cups her face with both hands and pulls her into the most blissful kiss that either of them had experience before. Their lips touched ever so slightly and then parted whimsically and tentatively. But it was the way he held her face in his hands and the way her hands clung to his wrist that solidified the kiss for both. And after, when they were slightly breathless and their eyes met again, it was undeniable the path that they both were slowly treading down was a mutual one.

"Nyota Uhura," Spock says, trying the name on. He enjoys the way it lingers on his tongue, much the way her taste does. He likes the way it sounds in the air as they both allow her name to float over them. She dips her head low and her wild locks fall over her face. With one hand she pushes the hair out of her face and smiles up at Spock, trying not to be unnerved by the intense way he looks at her.

"African?" he asks.

"Swahili," she responds, feeling a sudden chill. Spock noticing her discomfort pulls on his briefs and hands her his button-down oxford. She shrugs the shirt on, feeling the residual warmth form his skin soaking into her. It smells like him, and it vaguely registers in the back of her mind that she probably does too as she rolls the large sleeves up. Spock thinks she looks like a child in his clothing, and again comfortable, which is all he wants for her to be. She finally settles on a position facing him but lying on her stomach with her feet cocked up and behind her body, resting on her elbows. He's lying on his side, resting his head on his hand, his long legs almost the length of the bed.

"Why Camille?" the obvious next question, and one she's never had to answer. She's been Camille for so long that becoming Nyota again felt foreign.

"It is my favorite book," she bit he bottom lip, "it always has been. My father said that my mother read it while I was in the womb."

"I'd heard that the human female while pregnant has strange cravings. I never knew it extended to obscure literature as well. Nor is the name of the courtesan in the book Camille," Spock quipped. She cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips, and stretched up the bed like a child. He grabs a lock of her hair and tests its weight and lifts it to his nose to smell it. She smells like honey blossom and sandalwood.

"I realize this, but my first copy was the English version, so I picked the name Camille."

"Your mother picked a much more beautiful name, Nyota," he repeats her name, this time with a deep resonance and she is taken aback by the way he says it. There is a tinge of the sexual and mysterious to Spock's baritone, but something more fond lingers underneath. She wants to hear him moan her name, surround it with Vulcan curses and mumbling, and then come with it as a sigh. She's never wanted anything more.

"My father named me. I didn't know my mother," she says the words nonchalantly, "Now I know what most will say that I have issues because of it and that is what drove me to prostitution, but it really didn't. My mother died in childbirth and my father was a fantastic parent."

"What did he do?" Spock asks, intrigued.

"Everything. We were like gypsies, really. He did a lot of odd jobs to make ends meet, and basically travelled wherever the work was. I was his sidekick," she leaned forward unable to resist kissing the corner of his mouth where his smile resided.

"What a beautiful sidekick," he says almost muffled as he caught the rest of her kiss and allowed her to push him onto his back. She straddled his thighs and leaned over him, resting her elbows on his chest and shading them both with her wealth of hair.

"My father thought so, too. So, as we travelled, fearful of my safety he would cut my hair extremely short so that people would think that I was a boy. It worked. I think that's why I fell in love with the book so much. I wanted to be like those beautiful women who had men adoring them and their long hair and lush dresses."

"You're a hopeless romantic," Spock quipped.

"All whores are."

"Do not refer to yourself in such a manner," Spock replied with a dark look in his eyes.

"Spock, it's my job. I have sex for money, it's not who I am. Camille, she's a character, one that I enjoy playing. She's beautiful and soft and funny, and strong. Trust me when I say, Nyota is still a part of who she is, but Nyota wants other things," her eyes blank a bit and then she catches herself and shakes herself back to reality.

"What does Nyota want?" he asks, feeling himself rise as her body settles warm and nude against his covered manhood. She starts to slowly grind against him, and in spite of himself, his eyes close and his hips thrust upwards to meet her. She pulls his rising _lok_ from the hole in his briefs and strokes him. She sees him shudder and adjust himself.

"Everything," she leans into his pointed ear and whispers.

"And Pike can give you that," he grunts and thrusts into her strong grip. She slides her slick folds onto him, allowing herself a few moments to adjust to the size of him. She begins to slowly move, but is quickly overtaken when he flips them so that she is on her back and he is atop her.

"Pike can give me the fairytale," she says, wrapping her legs around his waist and feeling him thrust. His first movement just barely hits her spot, and he feels her dig her nails into his shoulder. A smirk aligns his face and he starts to move, slowly, still trying to figure out her body, how it moves, what makes her come, just how to elicit that beautiful sigh he loves to hear her make.

"Do you really want the fairytale? Or do you want the reality?" He asks as he moves slowly again, hitting her spot completely, eliciting a shocked moan from her lips. Knowing his perfect angle, he begins to move in earnest. Words start to slips from her full lips and he lowers his mouth down to kiss her, deeply, feeling her tighten around him as he continues to move.

"What exactly… is… reality?" She struggles, her bottom lip between her teeth, trying not to come. He coos at her, beckoning her to come on his _lok _to milk him the way he needs her to. He doesn't stop his movement, knowing that his pace is perfect by the way she digs her heels into his back and squeezes her inner folds. She's close and he can tell.

"This is reality," he whispers in a deep baritone, so sensually unfolding every part of her. She comes with a hard shiver, and milks him until he is spilling inside of her. He shakes until he collapses onto her and when they both come back to the present, she is cradling his head upon the breasts that he's dreamt about for days upon days. They are silent long enough to catch there breaths, her hands running methodically through his damp, thick ebony hair. Each strand felt like silk, flaxen as they weaved and grooved between her fingers.

"Tell me something about you," she doesn't ask. He likes that about her. There are so many things that he wants to tell her. He wants to bear his soul as naked as their bodies are, even more so. He wants to be like the mythical Adam and Eve before they were thrown from paradise; innocent, pure, absolutely a new sensation. He ponders the question for a long while in utter silence; so long, in fact, that Nyota thinks he's fallen asleep.

"I am only half Vulcan," the words come out as a whisper but she hears them and her eyes widen. She sits up and he falls from her chest and she looks at him with unguarded shock. His lips are curled in the semi-smile.

"Fascinating," she says when her voice finally comes back to her. His eyes crinkle at the corners, because he says the word often and wonders what she finds so fascinating. So, in keeping with the theme of the conversation, he asks her candidly what she means.

"What is so fascinating?" she smiles at him and the smile turns quickly into a laugh and the laugh into a full-on guffaw. She's bowed over with tears of humor streaming from her doe eyes. When she finally regains her composure his face is nonplussed: blinking, eyebrows arched.

"Fascinating is a word that I use for the unexpected," she says, her voice hoarse from laughter. He uses it for the same reason.

"Am I unexpected?"

"You are fascinating. I know that Vulcans are ones for secrets, but how did they manage to keep your birth out of the international holos?" she sits back on her haunches giving him her undivided attention. There is only a small part of his mind that registers her nudity underneath the over-large shirt she's slipped back on; it finally dawns on him that they'd just had sex with his briefs still on. He can smell them mingled together on her skin and he memorizes the scent, lest this be the last time he has with her.

"I can see that I am going to have to tell you everything," giving Nyota the once over he can see that she will not stop until she knows all about him. He finds that he cannot deny her anything.

"My mother was human, my father Vulcan and his family denies my lineage because of my mother's heritage," it's the most he's told anyone except for Jim.

"Even so, you're a medical miracle. Interspecies contraception, despite the social ramifications, curiosity would…"

"My father is the ambassador to earth, so it was easy to keep quiet," he cuts her off and silences her efficiently. He knows the look that's on her face; it's the same one he received when Jim learned the same news. Before anyone ever finds out about his father, he is just another Vulcan, and with a few words he transforms into interplanetary royalty. It's a human response of shock and disbelief that passes over her face, and another familiar expression of confusion. He can see the questions building, and readies himself for the barrage. The questions he detests answering, but when one tells a secret such as this one, it's a necessary evil.

But when he levels his eyes with hers once again, not realizing he'd dropped his gaze, he sees something foreign. Morbid curiosity doesn't prevail, but something different and strange, and singularly special. She reaches her arms out and wraps them around his neck in a strong hug, pulling their bodies together. He can feel her heart beating as strongly as his is in his side and wraps his arms underneath and around her torso, closing his eyes in a moment of release. Nyota's hug reminds him of his mother's embrace, and they both exhale the tension that was building between them.

"Thank you," she says when she pulls away. He nods silently, because he understands what she means by her words.

"What does your father think of your chosen profession?" Spock asks not used to being so candid. Yet the words flow from his mouth easily.

"He is the one that introduced me to the courtesan in Paris when I was eighteen. He reasoned that my education under those shrewd women would be more beneficial than had he sent me to a nunnery…" she recounts the last day of seeing her father in the flesh as they parted ways on the steps of _La Boheme_ the salon where she's chosen to study. She narrates warmly the kindly hug and simple kiss that he placed on her forehead and his last words – _Always be of use - _before heading in the direction of Provence. And much like that day, she cannot bring herself to cry at the memory of his frame disappearing into the heavy crowds.

Spock cannot remember the last time he's actually listened to a woman he was sleeping with. Doubly so, he cannot remember the last time he actually had a conversation with a woman that he is sleeping with. A backward glance at the money clip on his dresser top sends a pang of disappointment down his spine, as he realizes that his time with her is almost up and that he is not "sleeping with her" in the traditional sense.

"… every now and again I will get a postcard from wherever he's landed for the moment, but other than that I haven't seen him in seven years. How about you, do you talk with The Ambassador?" she asks teasingly, pushing him onto his back and laying astride him with her back to his front, he head just underneath his chin. Nyota closes her eyes and wonders how she'd ever existed with out the Vulcan-made pillow beneath her. Camille holds up ignored caution signs, warning Nyota not to get in too deeply with this one. The sound of Camille's mental warnings are drowned out by the muffled baritone answering her question.

"We speak less and less the older I become. I used to spend every summer with him in Shi'kahr and I would see him when he would visit Earth for work. He took great care of my mother and I, he truly loved her. Vulcans are not known for participating in extramarital affairs, but my father once told me that he would leave Vulcan and all it contained if my mother ever willed it. She only wished us to be close. She died thinking we were."

"And from summers in Shi'kahr with your Ambassador father to winters in Montreal selling antiques. Hmmm," she twists her mouth to the side and quirks an eyebrow mimicking his facial queues.

"I spent my youth primarily on Earth at a small farm in the French countryside," he stopped himself almost abruptly, realizing that he was giving entirely too much away. There were some secrets that were too dangerous to share. She noted his change in tone and mood but didn't press any further. She knew he was hiding something from her, and believed that all would be revealed in due time.

"Does it ever tire you?" she questions changing the subject for him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Pretending? Trying to fit into this carefully carved mold? Leading two lives?"

"I could ask the same of you, Nyota," he reaches over and runs a long finger down her cheek. He is dangerously close to making her name into a mantra for his morning meditation. It sounds like a prayer to his ears.

"Yes it is tiring, but then I realize that the benefits outweigh the costs. And putting Camille on is like slipping into a comfortable pair of old shoes for me," she feels his hand creeping down her shoulder and closer to her left breast. When he reaches the first button and deftly undoes it she acts as if she is blissfully unaware, which seems to excite him even more.

"You're a gypsie, surely you will want to roam, see the world, spend your time off of the grid, as it were," he is at the third button and the large shirt falls open to reveal taught chocolate nipples. He moves his hand inside to cup her breasts and squeezes the firm globe almost smiling as she arches her back and allows her eyes to close.

"You of all people should know that your lineage does not determine…" she pauses as she feels his other hand slip between her legs to stroke her clit, "… your future. I… want sta..bility."

He daringly slips two fingers inside of her and she hisses in response. She is still laying astride him with her back to his front, writhing shamelessly as he works her with his hands.

"And Pike is stable," Spock breaths into her ear, controlling his own arousal as this is completely for her.

"M-m-more… so than you… YES!" He clicks his tongue mockingly at her response and chooses a firmer rhythm, feeling her clench around his fingers.

"I am just as stable," he pleads his case knowing that she's close.

"Ooooh, no… you're dangerous," she shudders and comes so hard that she gushes outwardly, covering his hand and his bed with her essence; he deftly licks his fingers, drowning in the taste of her. He holds her as she shivers with the intensity of orgasm and soothes her fiery skins as gooseflesh puckers all over her body from the ecstasy.

When her eyes finally flutter open, he is looking down at her and feathering her face with butterfly kisses. She takes his head in her hands and brings him down for a lengthy kiss.

"I am an antiques dealer, nothing could be less dangerous," Spock says once they break from the kiss.

"Antique collector," she throws back completely defeating his argument, "and you are dangerous and mysterious and hiding something more than just your father's identity. I understand, however, some secrets are too… well… secret."

There was no more conversation for the rest of their time together. They spent the rest of the night in bed, learning one another, mentally marking sensitive spots. And when it was time for her to leave, she took the money begrudgingly and lingered in his doorframe while they kissed for more minutes. She'd trained herself not to turn around when leaving the home of a client. Generally, none were aware, awake, or courteous enough to see her out. She tried the same training as she walked away from his door, but upon reaching her car she glanced over her shoulder to see him still standing and watching her with those soulful eyes.

She screwed all of her courage to the sticking place and drove away, feeling pieces of herself falling behind her with every mile. The money that he'd given her was burning a hole in her soul, so she stuffed the bills into an envelope and gave her elderly neighbor a $2000 surprise in his mailbox.

When she entered her apartment, Camille slowly re-emerged and Nyota returned to her safe place inside as she stripped the clothes from her frame and stepped into the shower, washing the night away.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"_There are two sides to every story… AT LEAST!"_

_- Ann Landers_

**Ms. McMahon's POV**

**7:13pm— The Neighbor's Pied D' Terre**

Ms. McMahon was a quiet soul, kindly in her eyes and well on in age. She didn't venture much from her area, and enjoyed living in her quiet neighborhood because of the peace and serenity it afforded her in retirement. She, like many other residents were older in years, excepting the young and beautiful female neighbor. The dark beauty that lived next door, despite her obvious youth, was exceedingly quiet, without many visitors, excepting two male suitors who were respectful and easily quiet themselves. And Ms. McMahon reserved her judgment, as she could remember being young herself and how difficult it had been to decide between money and love.

Ms. McMahon knew the two men by face and reputation only; both of which seemed to be kindly suitors for her neighbors. Secretly, Ms. McMahon, Janis was her name, wanted the handsome, young Vulcan to win her neighbor's heart, because the two were much better suited; and it seemed, at least, for the past three weeks that her neighbor thought so as well. The Vulcan had been the only man to visit her, and even at times was in possession of a key that had been gifted him, if he decided to come by in the late hours of night. Those were the nights that Janis enjoyed the most, because she knew that early mornings would be filled with the sights and sounds of a young muscled Vulcan exercising on the balcony across from her own. On those mornings he would make eye contact with her, bow his head in acknowledgement and continue about his business. They had never spoken, and he had only inclined his head in her direction, but Ms. McMahon enjoyed his presence more than that of the much older American billionaire.

That is why the sound of strained voices alarmed Ms. McMahon to her balcony. She angled herself as not to be seen by the young lovers who were obviously in a quarrel at the stair below and across from her. She inclined her head between her two large, potted trees so that she could listen to the conversation; it was rare that anything as exciting as this happened. Ms. McMahon was not a fan of soap operas, but she reasoned that eavesdropping was an incurable human condition.

"You need to leave," her beautiful neighbor's voice was strained and unusually saddened. Ms. McMahon could see that she was obviously on her way to a fancy ball from her rather extravagant dress. The dress was a study in purple, starting with an iridescent, strapless, sequined bodice, leading down to a mermaid skirt that started with a placard of lilac, into a splash of true purple, and ending in a deep eggplant. Her hair was elegantly pulled up, leaving a bare neck and raindrop pearl earrings.

"You said that…" he was stopped, mid-sentence, by a delicate brown hand and a glint of shine against the emerging moonlight, "you are wearing his ring?"

"I made my decision. I am sorry, but I cannot leave with you," her voice was flat and low, and in spite of herself, Ms. McMahon leaned her head in closer and saw that his skin was a mossy green, almost to the sheen comparable to when he exerted himself in his exercise. And yet, his voice was calm as he responded.

"Your decision was made earlier with me."

"I had time to think while you were not with me, and I changed my mind. I wanted to tell you in person; it only seemed the respectful option," he voice is still strained with a tinge of fear intermingled. Ms. McMahon wondered if her suitor picked up on this or if his own supplanted emotions were causing a turmoil with which he could not fully contain.

"If this is your decision, then say to me that you do not love me," he demanded, she could see the fists at his sides clench even tighter. Ms. McMahon watched as her neighbor, with a staid and stoic face, responded:

"I truly am sorry for whatever feelings may have lead you on, but I do not love you. Goodbye." She shut the door, leaving the Vulcan by himself standing on her door stoop. The instant the door was shut, the Vulcan released his fury upon the ceramic pot that held a small lime verbena tree. Ms. McMahon, upon seeing this strength and fury released a small gasp, as it was not everyday you saw a Vulcan show emotion. He heard her and they locked eyes, him nodding his head as usual. He reached into his pocket for his communicator and spoke into it:

"Jim, call the _Doctor_ and tell him that he will have what he wants tonight."

**Spock's POV**

**2pm—Nyota's Pied D' Terre**

He enjoyed watching her as she combed her hair out and routed through her endless closet. He enjoyed watching as her nose wrinkled with indecision and she bit her bottom lip trying to match the correct shoes with the correct dress. He enjoyed the way she filed her nails and primped in the mirror. And he especially enjoyed the way she overdid all of these things when she knew he was watching her. This was one of those times.

She traipsed around in a mauve negligee, satin negligee, her hair pulled up in what she referred to as "pin curls," pulling endless amounts of expensive gowns from her wardrobe and holding them up to her full-length triplet mirror. He pretended to read _Antiques Monthly _as he watched this small adventure from her comfortable bed. He was still nude and undressed from that morning's love-making, and he knew that he would have to move from that spot of the earth in order to go prepare for the very same ball that she was attending that night. Alas, it was far easier for a man to dress than a woman, and he didn't quite want to leave her. The ball was to be her formal engagement party to Pike, and though she was no longer "Camille" and Spock had been the warmer on the cold side of her bed (even acquiring a key at times to her pied d' terre), she still insisted on going on with the engagement with Pike. And despite his protesting, he could not get her to change her mind. And as the time crept closer to the engagement from weeks and now hours, he found that he could not be with out her, and decidedly kept his mouth shut, as to enjoy the time that they had.

This was different. A strong wave of anxiety washed over him, and despite her manic hints to him that he would need to be leaving quite quickly as to avoid the car that was sure to be sent by her soon-to-be fiancé, he relished the moments of watching her.

"Are you going to continue to pretend to lie there, or are you going to help me pick something to wear for this evening?" she asked with her back turned to him but looking at him through her mirror.

"As the dress is not for me, I have no comment on the matter," Spock retorted and dove his nose deeper into his magazine. She turned and furrowed her brow, and then looking at him made her soften.

"Yet, if you help me, the dress _will be _for you," her voice was seductive, a pin curl dropped down to her shoulder, his heart skipped a beat. He swallowed and regained his composure.

"My pride, however, will not allow me to dress my woman for another man to take her hand," he stood nude from the bed, pulling the satin pajama pants from the floor and up the build of his endlessly long legs. It was time now for Nyota's heart to stutter.

"Spock, please tell me that we are not going to have this argument again. You know my answer," she exhaled and walked back into her closet to find two more gowns, one that was a lavish study in purple, unique and modern, yet classic in design.

"I do have you answer, and it is respected. But I must tell you this, I am leaving after the ball tonight," he responded, pulling a plain white shirt onto his frame and searching for his shoes and keys to his jaguar. Watching her dress was beginning to be too painful. He found both items he was in search of and started for the exit of her bedroom. She turned.

"When will you be returning?" she kept the same façade as always, trying to will all the emotions that the thought of his leaving created.

"I do not know if I will be anytime soon, as there is no reason for me to be staying," he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

"What about the _Artful Dodger_?" she asked hearing the jingle of his keys and trying to keep him from leaving, fearful that this would be the last time. Surely he was joking, but Vulcans didn't joke.

"Chekov can handle it while I am away, and if he needs me, he has my communicator number."

"And when were you going to tell me?"

"I am telling you now, Nyota. As you had already made your decision known to me, I did not wish to ask you to accompany me. I only want for your happiness, and I find that if I stay past your engagement that my presence would only make the both of us miserable. And as I respect your terms but cannot abide by them, I do not wish to share you with another and therefore I will remove myself until I it is safe for me to return," she nodded threw down the cream dress she'd been admiring against her frame and turned again to the mirror, so as to compose herself and not to cry. She still had no idea what to wear, and despite this being a bittersweet ending to her and Spock's relationship, she found that she wasn't quite ready to let him walk away from her.

"Then what would you have me wear if you were to be the man that was to have my hand tonight?" the question stopped him in his tracks. It was silent as he turned and their eyes met. The playfulness in her expression faded as she saw the noticeable absence of levity in his eyes. When he spoke, her heart broke.

"Nothing: for if you were to say yes to my question, and I allow me the honor of your bond, I would ravish you until you could not even utter my name or remember yours," he walked closer still talking, "We would be alone. I would not be so insecure as to announce it lavishly at a ball, though my funds and means could provide for such an extravagance should you ever wish it. But my respect for the question and your true answer would be foremost what I would cherish, not some undue pressured response put upon by the gossipers of this community. But as I am not the man receiving your hand, I would suggest the purple as it is a color worn and meant for royalty. And you, dearest Nyota, are regal. Goodnight," he turned, and she found her hand reaching out to his and pulling his large frame against hers and into a hold so strong that he thought her Vulcan.

"Take me with you. Don't leave me, I love you too much to just let you leave me," was her mumbled response. He could feel the wetness of her tears against his shirt and the warmth of her breath against his chest.

"Why must it pain you so much to say those words, ashayam?" he asked, pulling back and looking into her eyes.

"Because that part of me that I thought was gone, has been restored, and I find that I don't want to lose it because of cowardice."

"Do you honestly wish to come with me, Nyota?"

"Yes."

"Then when Pike comes to pick you up, do not be dressed for him, be packed and ready to leave with me tonight."

"Where are we going?" she asked, a sense of excitement that she'd lost overwhelming her joyfully.

"Anywhere you would like. I must go," he said walking quickly to her door with her on his heels. He eyed the clock noting that it was fifty minutes after three pm.

"Why?"

"I have to make our plans. Please, just pack and ready yourself. I shall be back by a quarter after seven to pick you up and we'll leave for the shuttle port. Ashayam," he said the word so lovingly and levied a kiss to her forehead that made her weak, and quickly made his way to the _Artful Dodger _still dressed in his pajamas.

Upon entering the shop, Jim, dressed to the nines in a blue blazer and khaki pants, eyed his old friend and business partner strangely.

"Forget something?"

"No time for levity, Jim, I need for you to call _The Doctor _and tell him that the deal is off and to find a different person for the job. His money will be wired back to him first thing in the morning. In addition, I need for you to acquire a fifth ticket to Vulcan as we are taking on another passenger." Jim rolled his eyes and slammed his palm to his forehead.

"What the fuck, Spock? Please tell me that this passenger is gonna be Chekov and not who I think it is."

"It depends on who you think it is," Spock responded.

"We're not taking her with us. I won't let you be this foolish. She's a prostitute, Spock. She doesn't love you," before he could pronounce the last syllable, Jim was being pushed against a very old, very dusty antique bookcase and held there by the strength of one of Spock's arms.

"This is a warning, Jim. Whatever your feelings may be about my foolishness on this matter you may say them widely, but you are never, ever to speak ill of her or her past."

"Understood. Let me down so I can make the arrangements."

"I apologize…"

"Don't. I've never seen you in love before. And, true to your nature, you never take the path of least resistance. It's going to be difficult making sure that Pike doesn't retaliate. He's got the means to chase the both of you all over the world if he must."

"That is a chance that we are willing to take, Jim."

"So, she knows about _Le Chevalier _then?"

"I will reveal that secret tonight, when she is securely on the shuttlecraft."

"Good thinking," Jim responded.

"Some secrets are too dangerous to reveal, even for the sake of love."

**Nyota's POV **

**4pm—Nyota's Pied D' Terre**

Infatuation was a strange thing to Nyota. Three weeks prior, no one would have told her that she was to be falling unequivocally in love with the mysterious Half-Vulcan. And yet, there she was, packing up all of her things ten minutes after he'd left her side in hopes of joining him tonight. Now, all she had to do was rehearse how she was going to break the news to Pike, knowing that the older man would not take it well. She could only have faith that Spock would not desert her, and allow her to be foolish. That was the thing about love and men, she'd only known both to let her down. But now, she had Spock, and there was no power strong enough to make her let him go.

A ding of her doorbell alerted her, and thinking it must be Spock having forgotten something in his rush to secure their plans, she hurried downstairs to answer.

"What is it that you have forgot…" she opened the door to see three men, one of them being Pike, the other two his bodyguards.

"You seem surprised to see me, dearest," the words left Pike's mouth with venom as he had his bodyguards push past her.

"Do come in," she responded, turning and locking the door behind the three men. When she turned, she was greeted by a slap to her face that left her right cheek stinging but unmarked. Her adrenaline peaked and her breathing spike, sending wafts of air from her lungs and tears springing from her eyes.

"I will give you two choices, Camille," the use of her alias shocked her, as Spock only called her Nyota ever since he'd learned it three weeks earlier, "one choice is foolish and one will keep you and your boyfriend alive."

"I'm listening," she swallowed and stood.

"Have a seat," Pike said, limping towards her couches. She decidedly chose the couch furthest away from him, and sat next to Pike's driver, Robert Cupcake.

"As you may have assessed, dearest Camille, I have been watching you with your Vulcan lover over the past three weeks of this relationship," Pike said the word 'relationship' as if it contained bile in every syllable.

"You can't have me Pike, I am not yours, I am his. I love him. And no matter what you may try, you cannot break us apart."

"How endearing, but Camille, I most definitely can break you apart. Let me put it to you this way, either you marry me or I will have him killed when he decidedly returns to come get you. And if you try to contact him as of now about this, then I will kill the both of you. You, like my many other things I have acquired over time, you are mine."

"I am not a thing; I am a woman, Chris!"

"You're a whore, a thing to be sold to the highest bidder, me! What is your answer, before I make it for you, death to him or life for both of you, though you shall be far apart."

"I will do what you ask of me."

"As I thought, death is more powerful than love will ever be. Now, go get dressed, prepare your words. You're a good actress, I want this to be convincing."

"You aren't leaving?" she asked.

"Oh no, dearest Camille, I want to hear his heart break for the betrayal. No one steals from me and gets away with it."

She was escorted upstairs where Cupcake waited outside of her closet for her to bathe and dress. When she emerged, wearing the purple dress that Spock had picked earlier that day, Pike was standing in the middle of her bedroom presenting her with a rather large princess cut diamond engagement ring that was set between two amethysts. She offered him her hand and he placed the ring onto it.

"You look radiant, and the ring matches perfectly."

"So it does."

"Funny, Spock helped me pick both of those items you are wearing, it was the first thing that tipped me off to your dalliance with him," her face almost crumbled, but she bit the tears back when she heard the sound of her doorbell. It was Spock.

"Alright my little actress, this is the role of a lifetime. Go get 'em."

As she walked towards the door, escorted by the three men, she felt her heart sink into her stomach. It almost felt like slow motion, the way a man must feel on death row as he takes that slow walk to the gas chamber. This was a choice between two deaths, Spock's real one and her emotional one. As she neared the door and levied her hand against the door knob, she felt her life slowly trickle from her and slide away. Pike and Cupcake stood behind her door, shadowed from Spock's view, but in her peripheral, holding a gun at the both of them. She inhaled and opened the door, the sight as he took in her state of dress and realization was all that she needed to break her heart.

She stood and explained with her best stoic façade and voice that she had changed her mind and that she would not be leaving with him. He protested, and even during their lovemaking she had never seen such intensity in his eyes. Inside she continued to die, feeling her body grow weak with sickness and worry. She felt her emotional heartbeat slow, only a ticker and strained beep in the back of her mind. And then Spock asked her to say the one thing that she wished he'd never asked. All the while, her eyes were pleading with him to understand, to read her mind, her emotions anything to let him know that she still needed him, now more than ever.

"… I do not love you. Goodbye," and when she shut the door the beeping of her heart stopped and she sank to the floor but tears did not fall.

"Very good my dear," Pike said, reaching hand to hers. She pushed it away.

"Today you have killed me, know that. I am dead."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"_Love takes off masks we fear we cannot live without and know that we cannot live within."- James Baldwin_

Jim knew the look on Spock's face as the Vulcan trudged statuesque and tall towards the awaiting car. It always amazed Kirk the way even Spock's gait changed when his mind was switching to his alter ego, _Le Chevalier_. The usually smooth saunter earned tighter, heartier lines, a slight slump in the shoulders, and the ridiculously arched eyebrows formed a rigid furrow in the middle of his head_. Le Chevalier_ wasn't Spock at all, Jim thought, he was a diabolical masterminded demon. _Le Chevalier _was the master and Spock took a back seat.

"She will not be joining us," Spock slid into the passenger side smoothly, closing the door with not so much as a sound. Jim didn't ask any questions, only started the engine and headed towards the destination of Pike's party.

"The airport is in the other direction, Jim," even his voice was deeper, Jim thought, not looking towards his old friend and business partner, only eyeing the road and stepping on the gas.

"I've lived in Montreal long enough to know my way around, Spock. We're not going to the airport, our flight leaves later."

"Then where are you taking me?"

"If I'm not mistaken, we were invited to an engagement, to which we are previously committed to a job for _The Doctor."_

"You were told to cancel that obligation…"

"I remember what I was told, and though I do follow your instruction most of the time, I decided to keep to my own free will."

"So?"

"Laymen's terms, I had a plan B, just in case a situation such as this arose. I may not know what it was that the two of you shared, Spock, but I wasn't born yesterday. Sulu and Scotty are waiting for us at the party. Our flight leaves in four hours; I think that gives us enough time."

"Ample. So what is the plan?"

Nyota was on the verge of tears when she was forced to greet Spock and Jim at the top of the massive staircase that led to Pike's ballroom. The fake smile she'd been wearing faded for a millisecond and then popped back up again once she'd taken both men's hands. Spock barely looked at her as he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. Jim followed suit. When both men were out of her vision, she allowed herself to breath.

It wasn't until the last of the guest trickled in that she wandered into the ballroom, the train of her multi-purple ball-gown dragging behind her slowly. She could hear the still whispers of the guests as she floated through the drawing rooms leading towards the ballroom, all of the people in awe of her beauty, the ring she wore, whispering and gossiping, scuffling and shuffling. In her mind, all she could do was think of Spock and how far away he seemed, even though she could see him standing at the entrance to the ballroom. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and just as she was about to speak, he turned away from her and walked away. She turned away as well, fleeing to a small, secluded corner, covered by a black silk-screen that had a scene of Japanese water cranes playing upon it. Behind the silk-screen was a small bench, which was already occupied by none other than Jim Kirk.

She knew him as Spock's friend, and he knew her as Spock's lover. Both stared at one another for what seemed like hours. Jim, being the gentleman that he was, moved over and allowed her room to sit. She took the offer and sat down, both releasing breaths neither realized they were holding. It was some moments before either spoke.

"Well… this is weird," Jim finally spoke, breaking the ice. Nyota chuckled.

"I needed to get away," she offered. Jim didn't say anything, only reached into his coat pocket to grab a small cigarillo he'd been saving for tense moments like this. He took his cigarillo in hand, lit it and exhaled small peals of smoke in rings. She chuckled. He offered her a puff and to his surprise she took it.

"I rarely smoke," she said after exhaling and flicking ash into the fern next to her.

"Me neither," he said accepting his cigarillo back from her and taking a puff himself and then offering some of his cognac.

"Only when I'm tense," she said, taking the glass and downing the rest of the beverage in one gulp.

"You must be really hard up. It's a big night for you; I don't blame your nerves for getting the best of you."

"That it is," she said, the liquor warming her deadened spirits and allowing her to siphon from her reserves of charm. Jim arched an eyebrow and chuckled low.

"You know all that charm and all this money and you still aren't happy."

"Excuse me?" she asked in shock.

"You really did a number on him sister. He's been with tons of women, all dalliances, and yet you're the one that he sticks on. And the fucked up part is that I can see right though you, to that little girl inside. And maybe, I can see a bit of infatuation to him, but the real you, the one that's hidden behind all that beauty and charm, and no doubt phenomenal pussy, is a scared, little fucking prostitute who only wants money and security."

She slapped him. Hard.

"You have no idea who I am."

"You're right, I don't know you, but I know him. I know that he was willing to give it all up and run to the ends of the earth for you, and you dumped him for a cripple with a ton of money and a false life."

"I love Spock, and if he could only see…" she hung her head low on her shoulder shielding her tears. Kirk chuckled.

"You want him to come to you? Are you serious? He came to you; it's your time to go to him. If you can't do that then maybe you should rethink your definition of love. Excuse me, I need a refill. Keep the cigar; you'll need it more than I do." Jim got up, grabbed his empty glass and left Nyota sitting alone on the bench.

She stayed and finished the rest of the cigar, her heart gaining courage with every puff she took. With resolve in her head and steps, Nyota jumped from the bench, leaving the half-lit cigar to put itself out in the fern. She eased gracefully between the crowd with Spock in her sights. He was across the ballroom, standing with Sulu and Scotty dressed in the same black tuxedo she'd seen him in earlier. For a moment, their eyes caught, and in that moment she pleaded with him. She was about to launch herself across the ballroom, when Pike stood before her, smiling and grabbing her hand in his.

With a command, the music stopped and the crowd dispersed from the middle of the dance floor, allowing Nyota and Pike to the middle to dance slowly to a waltz. With every turn around the floor, she looked for Spock, hoping their eyes would connect like they had before. She wanted to run from Pike, push him away from her and find the man that she loved… she just couldn't find him. The faces in the crowd were a blur. She twirled statically around the floor in Pike's arms, sickened by the feeling that this would be her new life. She felt the part inside of her that she thought she'd lost start to fight. Before she could pull away, the music stopped, the crowd dispersed and she left alone in the middle of the dance floor shrouded in the garish, single spotlight. She couldn't see anything, but could hear Pike speaking though she couldn't quite make out what he was saying. His voice sounded like the white noise one hears when they are about to pass into a dream state. In the very back of the crowd, Nyota saw the faint shadow of pale skin and pointed ears disappear into the hidden door that lead to Pike's smoking room and the rest of the house.

Within moments people were applauding and Pike was joining her with the jeweled ruby pendant she'd worn at the prior ball. He placed it around her neck and then leaned in to kiss her. Nyota snapped back into reality, smiled her most promising and charming fake smile and kissed him subtly like a good fiancé should. As soon as the crowd returned to normal, Nyota was away from Pike and whipping through the crowd and towards the hidden door so fast that when Pike turned around from shaking the hands of proud well-wishers she was already through the door and halfway down the hallway after Spock.

She rounded the corner to the smoking room hoping to see Spock and was left with an empty, smoke-filled room. The only clue someone had been there were a cigarillo that matched Kirk's, two snifters of melted ice and stale cognac, and the cracked door that led to the bedrooms in the house. Nyota, knowing it could only be Spock followed the trail, hiking up her train and taking off her shoes, leaving the Manolo's on the Persian rug behind her. She ran down the long corridor that led to the rooms, hearing the fast-moving foot steps before her.

The hallway was lit by led wall candles, which flickered away as the person moved towards them. The hallway t at its end, the left side leading towards the master bedroom and the right leading towards the five other guest bedrooms. The melodic footsteps and the flickering lights were leading towards the master. She couldn't run as fast as the person in front of her could stride, as she turned the corner, she saw the shadowed figured enter the master bedroom and the door shut close on the high-shined wingtip backs of shoes. She pulled the large wood door open and was left with nothing but darkness.

Pike's master bedroom was crimson and gold, more lavish than the man himself or what anyone would have thought it would be. A large velvet curtain hung against ceiling-high windows and in the middle of the massive room was a canopied bed also laced with gossamer, thin, crimson curtains. The only light was a gold-leaf filigree lamp with a crimson lampshade that sat upon a dark Brazilian teak bedside table. There was no sign of the shadowed figure or a sound of the person she'd been following. All in one moment, being confronted with the darkness and loneliness she'd chosen, Nyota fell to her knees and began to sob uncontrollably. In a fit of madness, she ripped the pendant necklace from her neck and flung her engagement ring from her finger, both landing in opposite spots among the room. The engagement ring flew and hit the wall behind her and the pendant went flying towards the direction of the balcony, through the heavy curtain that covered it. Nyota heard the ring clang to the ground but not the pendant. The lack of noise caused a pause in her rage. The balcony was open. She flung open the heavy curtain, doing so at the same time the hidden safe alarm was sounded.

Immediately, dogs began barking, she could see the guards scrambling among guests from the party. Soon Pike would come in his room to check on his precious collection and she needed to get that pendant and ring back on. She raced for the ring first and then the pendant, knowing Pike's love for it, and what she came face to face with was the love of her life. She grabbed the pendant from the ground as he descended from the window above the balcony. When he dropped and turned, their eyes caught.

"Are you looking for this?" she asked, not at all surprised, holding up the ruby pendant.

"Indeed."

"You're a thief," she said, dropping her hand down to her side with the pendant. His eyes never left hers.

"I was going to tell you."

"You never loved me… you just wanted to get close to me to get your next big score. Here, take it," she held her hand out to him and he took the pendant and her hand in his, pulling her to him and kissing her deeply.

"I have and always will love you, Nyota," he whispered into her ear and disappeared over the side of the balcony. She had only a moment to think of what Spock had left her with when Pike and three armed guards came bursting onto the balcony. The rest of the night was a blur.

All that Nyota could remember from her statements to the police was that she'd been robbed by a man that kept his face in the shadows. She'd told them that he was a mastermind and that he'd just taken her necklace and disappeared over the side of the balcony without a trace. The Montreal police said that it must have been _Le Chevalier_ the art thief that had been a menace and was now more of a world-wide legend. It struck Nyota as strange that the thought made her smile.

**11:43am Lucerne, Switzerland train to Austria**

The train was crowded so he simply sat in the first empty seat he could find next to a handsome man with dark brown hair and a natural tan to his complexion.

"It is remarkably pleasing to see you again _Doctor_, my business partner sends his thanks along with your merchandise. He also wishes to ask a favor," James Kirk responded and handed the satchel he was carrying to the blue-eyed man across from him. The man opened the satchel and his eyes lit up in amazement.

"Anything he asks, I'll do it for him."

"He needs a doctor… a very discreet one."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"_Always do what you are afraid to do." Ralph Waldo Emerson_

He wasn't sure about the adventure that he was about to embark on, but he reasoned that the best adventures always started with uncertainty. So when the car came to pick him up outside of his hotel in Lucerne, he screwed his courage to the sticking place, got into the car and took the ride. Surprisingly, he was alone in the car and no one was there to blindfold him, as he expected for the meeting he was about to have. The black Mercedes was unassuming and the driver no one that the man noticed. The area where he was travelling was familiar, but not so much so that he'd be able to find his way back without getting lost. The tragedy about Lucerne and most of Europe was that even to the well-travelled American eye, all of the buildings looked the same.

In moments, the car was out of the city and driving along the Swiss countryside, easing around the airy and winding roads of the Autobahn. The car maneuvered slowly and into the secluded hideaway roads of the Alps, and despite the anxiousness that he felt upon getting into the car, all of the trepidation started to fade as he concentrated on the scenery. Leonard McCoy knew that he owed _Le Chevalier _a great debt; though he figured that the handsome monetary reward was good enough, but apparently the world-renowned thief needed a more specific medical need.

McCoy, up until the moment his coveting of the Ruby Pendant got the best of him, had never ventured into the foray of criminal mischief. In fact, the good doctor was the very epitome of the perfect son. If he didn't have a penchant for brash language, Tennessee Whisky, gambling, and loose women, he could have been nominated for sainthood. The good doctor, having been born and raised in the Southern United States of America, had a swagger and charm that would rival that of Rhett Butler, a down-to-earth mentality, and a soft spot in his heart for hard-luck cases. This last issue was what caused him his first divorce from a horrid woman whom he rarely even thought about. Conversely, that deep human empathy was what also called him to be a Doctor and a damn good one. He was an avid philanthropist, starting four different universal charities. He became a professor at his Alma Mater of Old Miss, served four consecutive terms on the board of the AMA and two years on a panel of the American Surgeon General and all of this before he was twenty-nine. He also, in his many accomplishments, considered his upcoming marriage to Nurse Christine Chapel to be at the top.

What he loved and conversely hated about Christine was the eerie way that she could understand him better than he understood himself. She knew he loved her long before it dawned on him, but instead of pressuring him like many other women may have, she simply shook her head, kissed his cheek and smiled. When he'd come to her with the idea of stealing the Ruby Pendant from Pike, she reacted with positive affirmation and the valuable suggestion of getting in contact with _Le Chevalier. _And when he'd left their hotel suite this morning, nervous and fearful about the outcome of this small meeting, she simply ruffled his side-parted hair and pushed him out of the door with only these words to follow him:

"You bought the ticket, now take the ride."

She was definitely the perfect choice for him. Her calm moods suited his gruff moodiness, and realizing that she wasn't averse to a little bit of adventure made his blood burn for her even more. McCoy knew that no matter where this meeting took him, that Christine would be right there next to him "taking the ride."

"We're here, sir" the driver said, pulling up a long, pristine driveway set against the crisp backdrop of the Swiss Alps. The car came to a smooth stop in front of a semi-secluded Baroque-style building shaded with a neatly manicured row of Alpine and Cypress. The driver opened the door, and McCoy was instantly gratefully that he'd brought his heavier coat. Even though spring was in early bloom, the cooling, dry affect of the mountains lent a crisp chill to the air. Without saying a word, the driver closed the door behind him, got back in the car and drove away leaving McCoy alone outside of the small, beautiful ancient building.

There was a comforting blissful silence free of the white noise he usually was used to, and despite his reservations and complete confusion, he walked forward up the gravel pathway between the trees that jutted and prayed to the clear, blue sky. The silence allowed McCoy a few clear moments to enjoy the scenery, and coming upon the beautifully constructed structure, McCoy realized that the building he once thought of as a house was indeed a small, ancient abbey long abandoned by the Benedictine monks that he imagined once dwelled there. Now, it was only him and the distant calls of hawks to keep him company. The large, foreboding door was surprising easy to pull open, and inside of the edifice was an intricately, yet modest chapel kept cheerful by the natural light seeping through ornate stained-glass windows. He closed the door behind him, which presented a noticeable diminishing of the light, but added a whole new aspect to the chapel as large wall-hung candles twitched and danced, flicking ambient light against the pale rose colored stone.

The chapel was set up as expected with wooden pews on each side of a short aisle that led to the unassuming pulpit holding the usual religious iconography. The Doctor walked slowly, taking in the architecture, remembering every slight curve and turn of chiseled stone, carved wood, and colored glass. When he reached the front of the chapel, he simply sat, content to just be in the present moment, though still anxious. It wasn't long until he heard strong, confident footsteps coming up the aisles behind him, and turning he spotted the familiar face of Jim Kirk.

"I'm glad that you decided to come, Doctor, as is my friend and colleague. I understand that you are anxious to meet him, but there are some things that we must discuss before this happens," Jim sat gracefully next to McCoy but at a modest distance as not to intrude on personal space.

"What is there to discuss?" McCoy asked, looking Jim directly in the eye.

"Confidentiality is of the upmost importance. There are very few people who know his true identity; he would like to keep it that way. And any information that may be imparted to you during this meeting should be kept in the strictest confidence."

"That is completely understood, and I would have it no other way," McCoy replied genuinely. Jim stood quickly and both men shook hands.

"Let me take you to him, he is waiting in the rectory," Jim said, leading the way to the right of the pulpit and through another large, wooden door. Jim held the door as McCoy entered in front of him, and to the left of him, sitting in a large, crimson red, tufted back chair was Spock. McCoy stopped short, though he couldn't say that he was surprised to see the Vulcan sitting in that seat; he'd had inklings about the Vulcan ever since he'd met him at Pike's party. Spock didn't say anything, only inclined his head to the chair across from him, inviting McCoy to sit down. McCoy took the invitation, getting comfortable and noticing that there were two cigars and a flask of whiskey sitting on a table between them. He took the flask and poured himself a drink in a snifter and lit the cigar, Spock followed suit.

"I'm sure you have questions, I will allow you a moment to indulge your curiosities," Spock said.

"Why am I here? I thought our business was finished," McCoy snarked, but his mood lifted considerably when he tasted the alcohol and the cigar.

"After much consideration of your character, and doing an extensive background check, I have decided that you would be a valuable addition to the group. A doctor is a valuable commodity, especially in this line of work."

"And what exactly is your occupation, I assume it's not just owning that tacky antique store," McCoy said taking a sip, causing a noticeable laugh from Jim and an arching of the brow from Spock.

"That is a large part of it; despite what you may expect only part of my garnered wealth has come from being _Le Chevalier. _As you may assume, I am no regular man."

"No shit. Tell me why I should just drop my own projects, ambassadorship, philanthropy… my life to be a doctor that makes house calls for a band of universally wanted thieves. This cigar and whisky ain't that poetic."

"The choice is entirely yours, as there are no amenities that I can provide you that you cannot achieve yourself. However, hear me out, listen to my story, and then make your decision. No matter the answer there will be no hard feelings between us, as long as you take my secrets to your grave."

McCoy took a large puff of his cigar, released a massive cloud of smoke into the atmosphere, copped a cocky grin and replied:

"Hit me with your best shot."

There she sat in another illustrious ball gown: a two piece affair consisting of an antique cream, raw silk, strapless sweetheart bodice with rouching just touching underneath the bosom, and a straight, pencil-cut antique cream colored skirt that had a train in the back and fell just at the toe line in the front with a design of scrunching that reminded all who would see it of exquisite, Victorian curtains. Though the dress flattered her body and skin tone tremendously, it was not something that she would have ever chosen. In the back of her mind she knew that Spock would never have looked twice at the frock when considering her either.

She was alone in Pike's grand bedroom suite, with all of the over-elaborate masculinity in deep scarlet and high-posted, stringent mahogany furniture. It was dark and brooding, reminding her of a cross between a Baronic lothario and the Catholic Church during the Spanish Inquisition. She imagined this is what the bed chambers of the Vatican looked like: cold, old, pretentious, and dark. The only light was the one she'd turned on to illuminate the window as she finished applying her makeup and jewelry. Her hair was pulled up in a high, tight French roll with baby-fine tendrils falling in exacted and designed places (a style of Pike's choosing). She wore pearls: a simple strand around her neck, a double-stranded bracelet, and tear-drop earrings with modest diamonds at the stud. Her makeup was light and unassuming; the only flamboyant piece she wore was the engagement ring. She applied a simple musky scent to her pulse points and caught her reflection in the mirror. And though the likeness was beautiful, it was a doppelganger. The person staring back at her was Camille, but a muted, closed version of that lady. A courtesan without her court, and yet trapped in the most exquisite prison. Nyota wasn't even present in either the lady standing in the flesh or the reflection. And though the moment could have been profound, an awakening of sorts, it didn't bother her at all that she was becoming the very manifestation of an empty vessel.

It had been a full month since the engagement ball and subsequent theft of Pike's prized artifact, and the man had been insufferable. He'd put so much of his time and energy into investigating the theft and the men that allegedly took the piece that he'd almost forgotten about the wedding, which was to take place in two days. Despite his obsession with punitive action against _Le Chevalier _and the money he'd thrown into the manhunt, he still found time to throw another lavish party as a pre-wedding celebration. She snorted as she recalled the conversation about why it was necessary to save face and show that he was not in the least bothered by the happenings of the last party. He regaled her with reasons, each more insipid than the next. Her only orders were to be her "normal, charming self." She did not plan to disappoint him.

"Camille, the guests are arriving, we must go meet them," Pike said, walking over behind her and smiling at the sight he saw. He was not fazed by the clear tension between the two of them as she physically shivered and shrank away from his touch. She knew he wouldn't care; she wasn't a person to him. As he'd clearly stated, she was just a whore. Without a word, she stood, linked her arm in his and trudged towards the staircase where the guests were arriving. With every step she shrugged off the last bit of her that was human and became his property; his beautiful ventriloquist dummy, a doll for him to dress up and show off. She played the part well, smiling and charming the guests with her beauty and poise, and all the while dying inside.

After greeting the guest, she mingled listlessly, making small talk with the various diplomats and other dignitaries that were always in attendance at Pike's functions. She clung to Pike's arm, making toasts with expensive Champagne and plastering a smile to her face that never reached her eyes. She made nice with the women and even elicited coos about the upcoming wedding that sounded genuine. She even kissed Pike's cheek and patted his forearm like a good fiancé would; never giving any indication that she was absolutely broken inside. She had accepted her fate of living this false life long ago. It was what she'd chosen, and though it was not what she knew she wanted and needed and desperately craved, she would have to embrace the decision. So she swallowed down the champagne along with her dignity and memories of a true love in order to keep her sanity.

It was only by some small miracle that Pike was cornered by the Alton brothers who were looking to take advantage of the Admiral's good mood and hook him into an investment deal. She gracefully excused herself to retrieve more champagne, and slipped away from the ballroom to find a more secluded spot. Everything in Pike's home, though lavish, felt heavy and intense: after a month of living within Pike's melancholy domicile she missed the airy femininity of her small pied d' terre. She craved the crisp, white walls and the splashes of pink and green much like she craved a quiet place away from the party. She knew exactly where she could go to get away from those people; the courtyard with the aviary was just the place to find her reprieve. She'd never walked so fast in her life, and was blessed to find a full bottle of chilling champagne on her way. With bottle in hand, she opened the door, allowing the rush of the crisp air of the spring night to rush over her.

She finally exhaled.

The night was clear with a high, waxing gibbon so clear and white that it was the only light needed to guide any traveler. She popped open the bottle of champagne and released her hair from the high up-do, taking a swig straight from the bottle as her hair tumbled down past her shoulders. She felt like herself for a small moment, and then she noted the covered aviary and heard the still coos of the inhabitants. Like everything else in Pike's life and in his home, the aviary was a slave to a fashionable fad he's fallen slave to. Nyota imagined that if the avant guarde Mont Vert community found it the new vogue to own platypuses as pets then Pike would search the universe over for the largest and grandest. The aviary and every bird in it were meticulously chosen and the man enjoyed visiting his prized possessions regularly, and genuinely loved the creatures intensely for a very short period of time. And after the initial avian allure had worn off so did Pike's attention to his feathery pets, as his interest had shifted to another fashionable trend.

Nyota always thought the act of owning birds as pets was foolish and the people who chose to do so a bit too hedonistic, even for her tastes. And as she gulped down a large swig of champagne and tossed the heavy cover from atop the aviary to the ground, she found that her opinion about the subject hadn't changed. Immediately the birds came to life in a flurry of ruffling feathers and drastic chirping. She understood the reasoning behind owning the little beauties: having something this rare and beautiful in your possession was like owning an original Picasso. You could marvel at the beauty and elegant mish-mash of bright colors and cheerful song until your heart was full of awesome contentment. Yet, even as she considered the other side of the argument, the voice in the back of her head reasoned that unlike the Picasso whose natural habitat was on a wall to be marveled by generations to come, these creature were existing in an unnatural place. And though they were breathtaking creatures, the bars took away from their brightness and dulled their song. Despite not being where they belonged and yearned to be, they still sang and flapped their wings in hopes that someone would one day set them free.

You wouldn't hide a Picasso underneath a blanket.

"Teach me how to keep singing," she said, feeling silly for talking to an animal that couldn't understand her. All at once everything she'd been feeling for the past month hit the limit in a glorious crescendo of tears. She didn't stop them, she needed to cry, she needed to feel.

"For a woman that is to be married in two days, you do not seem to be in the best of spirits," the voice was strong, solid, and slightly familiar. She turned around with a start, her eyes blurry and red from the unstoppable tears. Her heart caught in her throat, as she came face to face with probably the most notable Vulcan in the universe, Ambassador Sarek.

She wanted to be charming and stately as she'd been earlier, as he was standing before her now. Yet, she couldn't find a way to smile through the emotions she was feeling. She was sure she was breaking some intergalactic mores of showing too much _human _emotion in front of a Vulcan. She knew that she was probably offending him with her outward scene, but she couldn't find the will to turn them off, and definitely didn't know if she knew how.

"Ambassador, what are you doing out here?" she asked with a shaky voice and tear-streaked face.

"Lady Camille, I could ask you the same question," his face didn't flinch as he offered her a handkerchief from the pocket in his stately, traditional robes. She took the offering and took a moment to compose and clean up. Sarek allowed her a moment of privacy, walking to sit on a bench that was secluded by a weeping willow tree behind the aviary. When she'd finally come to her senses, she walked back to him and gave him back his makeup stained and tear-soaked handkerchief. He took it back without even so much as a bat of an eyelash.

"I needed to be alone with my thoughts," she said sitting next to him on the bench.

"In my experience with this as a human tradition, the bride is generally in a much greater humor."

She smiled at this, noting that he had the same dry humor as his son. She took a moment to take in the Ambassador. The man had a stately face, which was placid and serene as many Vulcan's tended to. His skin was a deeper olivine than his son's, but they shared the same rigid posture, kingly nose, and strong jaw. Nyota reasoned that Spock's deep, soulful eyes was one of the few things he'd retained physically from his mother, as he very much favored his father.

"Generally, you are correct. But I needn't bother you with that. You are a guest in my home and I do not wish to involve you in my personal troubles, forgive me," she replaced her raw emotion with the charm she wore so well, and found that it slipped on almost as easily as an old t-shirt.

"I find the party to my liking, but I also find being away from the revelers to be more enticing," he responded with what she thought was genuine kindness.

"It can be quite stifling."

"Indeed, it is providential that we are both able to enjoy the solitude of this space. I have been out here for quite some time, and though it is customary at these events to stray away from conversation that may seem too heavy, I require company that is more academic at this time."

"I apologize, but I do not think that I will be able to help you with anything more intellectual than a conversation on wedding dresses," she tried to joke, standing, grabbing the bottle of champagne and walking to stare at the birds, her back to him.

"I do understand, though I do have it from a high authority that your intellect, much as your beauty could rival that of any woman from my planet," he stayed seated and watched her back. She could feel his stare at the back of her neck, and it reminded her too much of Spock and the memories that she so dearly wished to suppress.

"The flattery is appreciated, but I am afraid that your _high authority _is sadly mistaken. I'll leave you to enjoy the scenery," she responded without turning. She couldn't look at Sarek or even be near him; his very scent was all too similar. She started to pad away slowly, making her way back to the party. She heard the rustling of his robes as she imagined that he stood up to follow her.

"My source was not mistaken in the assessment of your beauty, so I do not see how the other judgment could be in error."

"Maybe you have my name mistaken with someone else," she shot over her shoulder, determined not to look back.

"Indeed two names were mentioned in the appraisal. I do not take the words of my _authority _lightly, as he's spent many years cultivating life in Montreal society. I was instructed that if I were to ever visit the city, to seek the company of Lady Camille Pike, as she is as charming as she is radiant and able to melt the ice of the Vulcan resolve with a simple sideways glance. And that if you were not available, to seek out the company of one Nyota Uhura who is equally as beautiful but possesses a wit that will compromise my natural inclination toward stoicism. As you are not available, do you happen to know if Nyota is?" the words stopped her and she turned and walked towards him slowly, in awe of what she'd just heard. He stood before her with a look that likened to Spock's smartass smirk.

"I know where you can find her. She doesn't tend to come to parties such as these," she finished standing an arm's length away from the tall man.

"That is unfortunate, as I have a written message to be delivered to her. If you could pass it on to her for me," he lowered his voice to a tone that was almost conspiratorial, and removed a sealed letter from the pocket of his robes and handed it to her. Without think she grabbed Sarek's hand and pulled him into the seclusion behind the aviary and the willow tree. She found that holding a letter from Spock made her blood begin to race and her breathing increase, and she wondered how she could have denied herself this experience for even a second let alone a month.

"He told you about me?" she asked, feeling herself becoming overwhelmed.

"He informed you of me; it was only fair that he repay me in kind, Ms. Uhura." She tore open the letter with a fervor she hadn't felt in a month. The paper smelled like Spock, woodsy, musky, like copper and cedar and sandalwood. She held the thin sheet up to her nose and inhaled. She noticed his characteristic scribble, despite his Vulcan upbringing it was a mishmash of cursive and print, elegant with the loops and whirls in the ess's and ells. The letter was brief, having only three words quickly scrawled:

"_Come to Me."_

_-S_

"Where is he? How do I get to him?" she asked.

"Are you certain that you wish to do this? This is not a decision to be taken lightly."

"How did you make your decision?" she asked, sinking onto the bench. He followed suit and exhaled loudly and long.

"I knew that Amanda, Spock's mother, was all that I wanted. Electing to bond with another of my kind may have been the prudent choice but it was neither right nor logical. I realized that the very basis in which I lived was threatened, but without her my ability to reason was void. Is that how you feel about my son?"

"If he wants me to come to him, I will not rest until I find him. He is the only thing that makes sense to me."

"Then you must come with me now. Do not worry about your clothing, you will not go without. Follow me, there is a car waiting to take you to him. Be advised, there is a long journey ahead of you. I will not lie to you, this is a test, but I am confident that you will pass," he led the way towards where the car was parked to take her away.

"One moment," she said running over to the aviary. First she said a silent prayer and ripped the engagement ring from her finger, throwing it to the ground with a clang. And then she thrust open the doors to the aviary, setting every bird free, and watching in awe as their colors and song illuminated the sky.

"Now, I'm ready."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"_Half-Truths are Whole Lies." – Yiddish Proverb_

There were many things that Jim enjoyed about his chosen line of work. The spoils were first and foremost the motivation for being a high-stakes thief. Being able to dine well, dress well and live in a fashion of utter wealth that people only dreamed of provided more than enough incentive to continue this line of work. He had travelled across the galaxies, seen every wonder of the world, and had hob-knobbed with celebrities, wealthy noblemen, and some of the most powerful people in the world. He'd slept with some of the most beautiful women, driven the most expensive cars, slept on 2000 thread count Cardassian cotton sheets, and sampled almost every luxury that life had to offer (which Jim was sure there was an endless amount), all without losing his anonymity and peace of mind, and thankfully never suffering the worst negative of all, which was getting caught. After almost a decade of thievery, and at the modest, youthful age of twenty-five, Jim Kirk's net worth was hovering around the 217.5 million dollar mark; not bad for a country boy from Iowa.

That being said, being a professional high-stakes criminal was not at all bread and roses. In many ways, it was a lot more difficult than just living a regular life. It took a special kind of person to be able to last as long as he had in this lifestyle. It was an existence composed of loneliness, fear and paranoia, and no amount of money could soothe the deep ache for normalcy that he knew they all craved and yet rejected out of some twisted psychology that he didn't even want to touch on. When he was first starting out and trying to justify his chosen path, he used lame arguments that were tethered to denial. Jim could, on many occasions, remember shouting with righteous indignation that there was no such thing as a "normal life." He was a fool then, just a juvenile delinquent who picked pockets and shop lifted for fun. Back then he was constantly in trouble with the law, because, as Jim rationalized, he was a teenager, it was his job to rebel. It wasn't as if he had always wanted to be a criminal. He'd actually wanted the converse; he wanted to be a hero, a man that was a credit to society instead of its menace. But the strange thing about life is that plans rarely, if ever, turn out the way you want them. Life, as Jim surmised, was comprised of two separate, yet equally important truths: Choices and Fate.

Many would say that his easy summation was simply another justification to continue living on the wrong side of the law. Society was quick to judge the things that were not easily understood, and Kirk couldn't blame the world for it. He once held a lot of guilt inside over the things that he did. Well, not technically over the actual committing of the crime. Everyone has to have a talent, and Kirk couldn't sing or play an instrument, but he was a damn good thief. The guilt was more about walking the tightrope between two worlds. The lies that he had to tell to those that he cared about ate him up inside until he just couldn't take it anymore and had to make a decision. Living life in purgatory is not living life at all. Standing at a crossroads is not moving forward. Jim was just thankful that when he'd come to his crossroads those years ago that Fate stepped in and delivered him Spock, Sulu and Scotty. Knowing that he wasn't going to walk down the road less travelled alone made it much easier to kick rocks on down the path. They were more than just partners in crime, more than just friends, after almost ten years of the life, they were a family.

Like any other normal family, this band of brothers had their own disagreements and problems. They were four men who'd been together most of their adult lives, taking on roles of a "normal" family, and consequently they all knew each other's moods, idiosyncrasies, and habits. For example, Spock had the annoying habit of walking around the safe house once they were finished with a job and rubbing his fingers across any spot that had a line of dust. This may seem strange, but Spock would never deem to clean the place, he would simply just run, always, the first two fingers of his right hand across every flat, dusty surface and click his tongue in disgust. Scotty did all of the purchasing of the food and alcohol, even though Jim was the family cook. Sulu hated mandatory down time at the chosen safe houses, which was a rule that the first 72 hours after a successful heist no member of the team could leave the house unless they were deathly ill. There were arguments, but mostly they worked hard and played hard, living by a strict set of time-tested rules that kept them at the standard.

Bearing all of that in mind, Jim was wracking his brain trying to figure out what exactly was going on with Spock. Kirk was sitting outside on the back porch of the Lanzarote, Canary Island safe house enjoying the scenery and the weather. Generally, Spock would have joined him when asked, but the Vulcan seemed preoccupied and more inside of his head than usual. The change wasn't so drastic that it called for an intervention, but it definitely set off warning bells inside of Jims head. So much so that Jim allowed his beer to go warm.

"It seems as if you need another drink," Spock said from the patio door, holding two beers and passing one to Jim. Before the Vulcan could sit down he took the first two fingers of his right hand and passed them over the side table that sat between Jim's patio chair and his own. Jim watched this ridiculous ritual from a side glance, and when Spock clicked his tongue at disdain from the dust, a snicker left Jim's lips. Spock arched and eyebrow at his friend.

"Do you find me amusing?"

"Yes, I do." Jim said between a small laugh.

"What exactly is so humorous, Jim?"

"I was just sitting out here thinking about stuff, basically about how well we all know one another and how little shit changes, you know, Human stuff."

"I fail to see the humor or the connection for that matter," Spock replied twisting the top off of his bottle of beer.

"I knew you wouldn't," Jim said, raising his bottle towards his friend and clinking the longnecks together in a toast.

"Where are Monte and Hikaru?" Spock said after a swallow of his beer. The Vulcan winced slightly, as he rarely ever drank the stuff, but it was tradition for the two of them, dating back to the first time they'd ever did a successful heists. Jim smiled and sipped. Even after almost ten years, Spock still hadn't acquired a taste for beer.

"Well, you know, as soon as it hit the 73rd hour Sulu was walking out of the door. Monte went with him, something about going to the beach. I've just been out here all day, soaking up some sun. Where have you been?" Jim asked, and noticed that Spock seemed reticent to reply.

"I have been checking my correspondences," the answer was succinct and stringent, almost as if Spock couldn't relax. Granted, Spock generally wasn't one for idle chit-chat, but he was never this wound up. Jim knew that there was definitely something up now.

"Who sent you stuff?" Jim probed. If it was business, then he needed to know.

"Bank account confirmations, news feed about the crime, some information from McCoy, and a response from my father," Spock said that last part so nonchalant that Jim knew he was definitely hiding something. Despite their strained relationship, Spock never seemed the least bit concerned, least of all nervous.

"Really? And what did the good Vulcan ambassador say? He's probably pissed that you're in the news again," Jim fired back nonchalantly with a chuckle. The expression on Spock's face didn't' change, it continued to stay at a grimace. Jim wasn't even given the customary smirk that Spock called a smile. At noticing his friend's absolute stoicism, Jim stopped chuckling and sobered up quickly.

"He was regaling me with tales of his short jaunt to Montreal." Spock said and then focused his attention deftly on his beer. Jim waited for a moment to allow the man to swallow, hoping that Spock would elaborate, but apparently Spock wanted to play twenty questions None of this was sitting at all right with Jim. Kirk allowed another tense silence to pass through the air, waiting for Spock to continue, and when he didn't Kirk rolled his eyes and huffed.

"Spock, do I look like a dentist to you?" Kirk asked sarcastically and watched the middle of Spock's brow furrow.

"That question is illogical, as I know that you are not a dentist…" Kirk put his hand up before Spock started talking his Vulcan bullshit. He'd lived around humans long enough to understand sarcasm, and having successfully utilized the literary mechanism, Kirk knew that Spock was working hard to hide something.

"Yeah, you must think I'm a dentist today, because talking to you is like pulling teeth, long, tedious, and painstaking. What's going on with you? Because I honestly don't have the patience to do this today."

"My father reported very good news back to me from Montreal, as he was a notable guest at Pike's pre-nuptial gala," the Vulcan's voice broke a bit and realization finally eked through to Jim's drunk-fogged brain. It wasn't about Spock's father at all, it was about Nyota.

"Spock, I knew there was something bothering you. Look, Nyota was one hell of a woman, obviously," Jim started into a spiel that he had memorized long ago specifically for moments like this with his friends.

"Jim," Spock tried to interrupted.

"I know, I know. Do you think you're the first sad sap that's had a beautiful woman put him through the ringer…"

"Jim… she…" Spock tried once again, but Jim threw up his hand to stop him from talking.

"It happens to the best of us. But what you need to concentrate on is the fact that we're all safe, and that she's made her choice so that everyone can move forward…" Jim was almost at the end of his speech.

"…Jim she did make a choice…"

"She did, and despite your feelings of trepidation, you have to move on. There is an old human proverb: If you love something let it go, and if it comes back to you, it's yours… who knows, maybe down the line… life has a lot of twists and turns," Jim was leaning in and clamping the Vulcans shoulder, " Pike's old, he's cripple, he could die and she could realize her mistake…"

"She is coming back to me, Jim," Spock finally got out.

"Yeah, maybe one day sh… WHAT?" Jim leaped from his chair, beer still in hand, "HOW? HOW? WHAT?" he started pacing.

"My father contacted her a week ago saying that he was on his way to Montreal for a meeting. I quickly responded asking him if he would kindly do some reconnaissance, stop by the _Artful Dodger _, check to see everything was in order, as he has been known to assist in the past," Spock had been expecting an emotional reaction but nothing so strong from Jim. As Spock watched his friend's reaction, which was the stance of absolute shock: eyes wily and wild, heavy, deep breaths, mouth slack, and both hands rubbing his temples, Spock knew that this was going to be a difficult conversation.

"But… how?" Jim tried to speak, but the shock just stunned his head right back into his hands.

"I told my father to somehow get invited to the gala and relay a message to Nyota to come to me. I followed the rules; I didn't give her our location, but she dropped everything and left by herself in his car that night with only a small satchel of provisions and one change of clothes. I am giving her The Test," Spock finished his story. At those words Jim doubled over as if he were about to be sick.

"I think I'm gonna be sick, and yet I need another drink, something stronger than this fucking beer," Jim shot up from his chair, threw the half-full beer bottle over the deck railing and headed towards the kitchen.

"Jim," Spock said standing but was interrupted by wild, wide, blue eyes and a thrown up hand.

"Give me two minutes of silence while I go make myself a stiff drink… just two minutes," Jim was smiling, but it wasn't a comforting smile. To Spock the man looked crazy. Spock realized that the information was a shock; Nyota's answer had come as a shock to him as well. But despite the reservations of their reunion, Spock knew that he was doing the right thing. Jim just needed two minutes and a drink to think and recover from the shock to see the reason behind his actions.

Jim returned in exactly one minute and fifty eight seconds by Spock's overly precise calculations. His blonde-haired friend seemed calmer, more rational as he emerged from the house holding a snifter that was filled to the brim with Scotch. Jim took two long swigs from the glass, exhaled, opened his mouth to prepare to speak and then closed it again. This process repeated two more times before Jim even got a word out. And when Kirk spoke, he squeezed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

"N-Now…" a nervous chuckled left Jim's lips, "Now, let me get this straight. You, basically, asked your father, the Ambassador to Vulcan, to relay a message to your ex-girlfriend two days before her wedding…"

"I didn't ask, Ji…" Spock was stopped short by Jim's free hand slicing through the air. Kirk ambled forward, further away from the house door but still a few steps away from Spock.

"This same ex-girlfriend w-who," Jim starting laughing a little heartier, " chose this guy over you before when posed with the decision," he stopped to laugh again, "and… AND her fiancé being, incidentally the man we just robbed and are currently hiding from universal authorities, and to top it off… you're gonna give her The Test, which is going to lead her to us," Jim finally bowed over with laughter, spilling his drink slightly. Spock quirked an eyebrow and walked closer to his friend.

"Jim…"

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR VULCAN MIND? WHAT THE FUCK, SPOCK!" Jim yelled, throwing the glass in anger over the deck balcony to join the earlier discarded beer bottle, "I've got to sit down and catch my senses, and then I have to call Scotty and Sulu and we all need to pack and find another place to go."

"Jim, the precaution is not required, I assure you," Spock said taking a seat back in his original chair.

"Not requ… you assure me… are you hearing yourself? Do you not realize how severely you've fucked up? You've broken about five of your own fucking rules. And then you want me to just sit here and wait for her to show up with every policing agency in the world behind her. Fuck that… you can stay here, I'm leaving."

"Jim, I know that you have a low opinion of Nyota because of her prior profession, but we cannot judge her considering..."

"You're really insane aren't you? You honestly think that I'm freaking out because Nyota was a whore? I love whores, Spock. This is not about a people in glass houses, hypocrisy thing. I'm freaking out because you have jeopardized not only me, you, Scotty and Sulu's lives, you've pulled McCoy into it… and worst of all, Spock, your father. You have your head so far up Nyota's ass that you aren't seeing that she's shitting on you."

"Jim, she's not shitting on me. Her very agreement to come to me, to take The Test signifies that she does love me."

"Spock, you took our business, our livelihood and made it very personal. And once more, you betrayed your family. We only have one another Spock; no one else has our backs. And let's say that she does love you and that's great, but then we have fucking Pike after us. Please tell me that you're seeing this and I'm not the one who's crazy."

"Pike doesn't frighten me," Spock says triumphantly. Jim slaps the palm of his hand against his forehead and curses loudly.

"I'd rather have the cops after me, because at least with the cops, we'll get twenty-nine years of a cozy 8x10 cell, 3 hots and a cot. Pike, he'll just fucking kills us, Spock. "

"He would have to catch us first."

"Horseshit! I refuse to run from a crippled millionaire for the rest of my life. This money will run out at that rate and fast, because Pike will never stop. NEVER! But it's not just you, Spock, it's everyone. You didn't even discuss it with the rest of us, you just made a decision that affects everyone else based on your own personal feelings," Jim fell back into the chair exasperated.

"Jim, I know that I have made things difficult for us now, and for that I apologize. But I do promise that I will make everything right. I will have to."

"I always thought it would be me to fuck up royally, and you know what, I accepted it, I was strong enough to bear that burden. But I just don't understand… I don't understand why? How? Why Spock?" Jim just sat shaking his head.

"Because I love her, Jim, and there is no way to avoid that any longer. I had to know if she would come to me. And I thought that you would recognize those emotions in me before I even did. I surmised that I would not have to do this alone. I assure you it was not hubris that led me to these foolish acts, Jim. I never meant to put us in this situation," Spock said looking away. Jim closed his eyes and exhaled all of the frustration and ire that Spock's actions had caused.

"You already made the decision alone, so why, when it could blow up in your face do you need backup? Spock, listen, I have no doubt in my mind that you love Nyota, but your emotions are not anything I'm worried about. I'm worried about a woman scorned and her fiancé. I'm worried about us making it out of this alive. I'm worried about your father being ashamed and embarrassed by this scandal. Hell, I'm worried about McCoy. There are so many other people on my list before I even get to myself that it's overwhelming. I understand that you love her, but how many people lives do you have to ruin just be in love? Love is just not a good enough reason right now, Spock," Jim said standing up and heading towards the door to the house. Spock popped up behind him.

"Jim, she's pregnant," Spock let flow from his mouth. Jim stopped mid stride and felt a wave of nausea come over him.

"You did not just say that shit to me," Jim could taste the flavor of his mouth turn salty, which always signaled that he was about to vomit. He started to inhale and exhale slowly, "she told you this…" Jim vomited in his mouth a little bit and with the strength of a gladiator swallowed the mound back down. Kirk couldn't even make it back to the chair he'd previously occupied, instead he opted to just slide down the wall next to the patio door. Jim allowed a few more breaths to contain the nausea and then logic hit him like a ton of bricks, and his body righted itself faster.

"Spock, you're an interspecies hybrid, you're sterile, and Pike lost his ability to reproduce when he had the accident. She was a prostitute, so logic points to a number of other guys."

"I'm not sterile, Jim. I had McCoy here specifically to find that out. Just needed to be sure, it will make it easier for her…" Spock stopped midsentence. Jim's eyes widened to almost the size of saucers.

"She doesn't know that she's pregnant. This may make me sound stupid, but if she doesn't know, then how do you?"

"When I touched her hand and kissed her before jumping from the balcony, I sensed her life force and another very, very, very weak one. She had only been with me. I didn't believe it either until I received the information from McCoy about my virility."

"Vulcan voodoo is what you want me to base all of this on?"

"Has it ever been wrong in the past?" Spock countered. Jim cleared his throat and searched the extensive file cabinets of his brain for a time where Spock's uncanny extraterrestrial senses had ever failed the group. There wasn't one time where Jim could find fault. In fact, Jim and the others owed those same wits a debt of major gratitude for saving their asses more often than not.

This was not an easy decision, but if Spock knew without a shadow of a doubt that Nyota loved him and that indeed she was pregnant, then there was no other choice. Spock was giving her The Test, which was a severe test of wits and vim on the one that was being tested. Generally, when one was being tested they were watched vigorously by a single spotter just in case they needed help. At this point, it was too dangerous for any of the four of them, especially Spock, to be seen with Nyota, less they give away their identities and one of _Le Chevalier. _But Nyota was pregnant and she didn't know it yet and with the _Chevalier's _unborn heir. The stakes were indeed higher and not in their favor, but something had to be done.

"I'm going to go," Jim said with stiff resolve.

"Jim… you cannot possibly…"

"Don't argue with me. Scotty and Sulu are needed here, you can't go for obvious reasons; so I am the only one who can do this. I'll be the guide, but she'll need someone there with her. Does she have any friends that she mentioned that may be acquainted with _Le Chevalier?" _Jim asked, reverting back to the calm and collected business partner that Spock was used to.

"She mentioned another courtesan, an Orion back from when she studied in Paris at the salon. They still kept in touch."

"What's her name Spock, the Orion?"

"Gaila. Nyota said that she was quite nomadic."

"I can find her, though I don't think she'll be happy to see me," Jim grinned and stormed into the house, throwing a small amount of clothes into a convenient carry-on bag. He needed to pack light in order to move from place to place easily.

"You know the Orion?"

"Very well," Jim said, looking down on his communicator and hitting a few buttons. There was a low tone and then a bubbly, female voice picked up the phone.

"It's Jim… _Le Chevalier _needs a favor," Kirk walked away far enough to be out of Spock's ear shot. The Vulcan could hear murmured, strained whispers and then the sounds of relief. Moments later, Jim closed his communicator and walked back into talking range with Spock.

"Gaila said that she would meet me in Lisbon; that's where she lives, and then on to New York to meet Nyota. I booked a flight for the three of you to Tunisia to take the _Moroccan Route_. When the guys get back we have to clean down the place and get to the shuttle port."

"You are…" Spock was speechless, and Jim stopped him midsentence.

"I know you'd do the same for me; that's what family does Spock."

"Who is this Gaila, and can we trust her?" Spock asked.

"Gaila is… she is…" Jim searched his mind for the perfect word to describe the Orion woman he'd met in Lisbon so many years ago. The perfect word escaped, but the memories did not, and he stood in front of Spock reminiscing:

_5 Years Earlier_

_Libson, Portugal_

_ He'd been in Lisbon for two weeks by himself and hadn't left the safe house for anything but food and other provisions. He was alone, not something he'd been used to being for two years since he'd met up with the other four men in his crew. This hadn't been their first big heist, but it was one of the most televised; robbing the Smithsonian was nothing to sniff at. After the heist, Spock had separated from the group because he'd received word that his father was having heart surgery and that he needed to report to Vulcan immediately. That left just him, Scotty and Sulu to make due for the mandatory 72 hours. Sulu and Scotty had made prior plans to travel to Tibet, and despite their begging for Jim to join him, something told Kirk that he wanted to be alone._

_ Today he'd decided that he was going to have an espresso at the café down the block from the house. He dressed simply in worn blue jeans and a white button-down shirt. His hair was long, so he put it back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Checking himself over in the mirror, he grabbed a light jacket and exited the house. The weather was pleasant, temperate tinged with the customary humidity of the Mediterranean climate. He walked briskly down the road until he reached the quaint café, sat at a table on the outside patio and ordered his espresso. The drink was warm and strong and allowed Kirk to relax and enjoy his surroundings finally. He exhaled a deep sigh of relief and leaned back into the metal chair._

_ He took two more sips of his espresso but didn't swallow the bitter drink as his mouth fell slack at the vision before him. The Orion woman had the customary emerald skin tone and crimson hair, but this one had fiery violet eyes and was wearing a beret in the same color. Her ensemble was bohemian in its simplicity: a cream peasant shirt tucked messily into a pair of worn, denim belled jeans, brown clogs, and a brown, leather messenger bag slung carelessly across her body. Jim couldn't take his eyes off of her and embarrassingly let the espresso dribble down his chin. She smiled, noticing his flub, and brazenly sat down at the seat across the table from him Kirk was stunned and._

_ "Close your mouth," she said and then reached over and pushed his chin upwards softly. Kirk cleared his throat and tried to think of something to say but the words escaped him._

_ "You want to have sex with me don't you," She said with a pleasant stair and sassy grin. _

_ "In the worst way," he responded before he could think of what to say._

_ "I like your honesty. But, how about you buy me a coffee first and then we'll discuss the sex while we drink."_

_ "Jim," he offered a hand to her, "thanks for sitting."_

_ "Gaila. The pleasure is all yours, I promise."_

_***End Flashback***_

"Jim…Jim. Are you unwell?" Spock asked, as Jim hadn't spoken in almost two minutes and was currently standing with a blank look on his face. Spock's voice brought Jim back blinking into reality.

"No, I'm fine," Jim said, dropping his toiletry bag into the small duffle, and smiling a bit at the memory. At that, both men heard the door open and heard the raucous banter of Sulu and Scotty. Sulu was the first to walk in and see Spock and Jim and to notice Jim packing.

"You two want to be alone… trouble in paradise?" Sulu quipped.

"What's the matter Jim, your boyfriend kickin ya out , lad. You will be missed," Scotty added.

"Why am I always the girl in this relationship?" Jim asked rhetorically.

"You honestly pose that question to me?" Spock responded sarcastically. Jim smiled and turned back toward their circle just in time to receive a snifter of cognac from Sulu, who had prepared drinks for all of them.

"What should we toast to?" Scotty asked.

"Oh man, I have a good one," Jim smiled," To _Le Chevalier _and bun that he has in the oven," Jim rasied his glass to Spock and almost laughed allowed to a shocked Scotty and Sulu.

"You're pregnant Jim?" Sulu joked.

"Nope, but the ex-fiance of Pike is. Drink up, we need to pack while Spock explains everything."

"When you get back, we will toast to all of us, and my new wife and child, Jim. I expect to see you at the family home in six weeks," Spock held out his hand to shake Jim's.

"Are you kidding me," Jim said, pushing the hand out of the way and hugging his close friend, "I'll see you on the other side."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"_Run like Hell and get the agony over with"—Clarence DeMar_

When seeing someone after a long period of time there is always an anxiety that runs through us, especially if that person that we're seeing was a former lover. This truth is doubly so if the former lover and relationship had ended on Titanically bad terms. Despite the wounds that time heals, and the closure that was achieved through years of being apart, that awkward, acrid anxiousness hangs above you in the air. Jim and Gaila were no different in this regard.

He could see the Portugese sun gleam from her green skin as he waited on the shuttleport dock. She was in an old-school yellow jeep that Jim almost suspected ran on gasoline had he not seen the plug charging port. He threw his small duffle into the back and jumped over open roll-bars and into the car, not saying anything. Her face was blank and her violet eyes were shaded by deeply tinted aviator glasses. Her jean skirt was ripped and short, she wore no shoes, and her shirt was linen, white and so thin that he could see her forest green areolas through the lace bra that she wore underneath. They didn't talk at all for about fifteen minutes. Gaila whipped and whirled through the traffic and then past downtown and through the city past the suburbs. Within another ten minutes they were in a heavily wooded area, not quite rural but secluded enough to be charming. The houses were stretched far enough to be private but close enough to feel like a neighborhood. Jim could smell the salty air of the coast and smiled contentedly as the memories of their time together washed over him. He kicked himelf for what he'd done to her and how he'd treated her; she was truly the only woman that he'd ever loved.

"Are we going to talk or are you going to ignore me for the rest of my time here?" Jim asked, sounding to himself like a complete ass. She didn't look at him, only floored the pedal as the paved road turned to dirt and slammed them into a puddle. Jim wasn't prepared for the hard bump or the sloshing water, but Gaila was. A curse left Jim's mouth as he shook the muddy water from his form and hair and tightned the seatbelt around himself. She didn't look at him, but he could see a smug smile of satisfaction creep to the corners of her mouth.

"Alright, now that you have that out of your system… how have you been Gaila?" Jim asked. As he asked, they pulled into a nice bungalow which Jim could see led a small, unmarked path toward the Portugese coast. She pulled into a coverport, stopped the car and led the way into her home. He grabbed his duffle from the back and saw as she removed the aviator glasses from her face to peer into quickly-graying sky.

"It's going to rain," was her only response as she entered her home. She took off her shoes and Jim followed suit, threw her keys next to the door and stretched, "my guest bedroom is down the hall past the fresher to the right; you can bunk there. I am going to grab some alcohol and run out to catch some sun before it rains. Get your suit on and then we can talk."

"I didn't bring a suit," Jim said nervously.

"And you know I don't wear one. Modesty was never our thing," she said stripping out of her shirt and skirt just as quickly as the words slipped from her mouth. She stood before him in the thin lace bra and panties, grabbed a bottle of Cardassian wine and slipped outside. He pulled off his shirt and pants, quickly threw his bag into the room and followed her outside.

Gaila's house was located on a cliff and had an esquisite deck on the roof of it. He climbed the stairs and saw her sunning herself and sipping the fuschia, Cardassian wine. Memories of the way they used to make love on the deck clung to him like the humidity that was clinging to his skin. He swallowed and pulled up a chair next to her.

"I'm glad to see you kept the same place," Jim said.

"Did you think that I was going to get rid of it because of you?" Her response was simple and only slightly venomous.

"That's not what I meant," he swallowed. She shrugged and turned her attention back to the view. Jim decided that for the remainder of the time with her that he'd just be quiet, and then he thought of the dire need for them to form some semblance of trust. Though he knew he'd broken all of her faith in him, he now knew that his life depended on at least shuffling the past underneath a rug.

"Jim, don't be so transparent, I can smell the change in you. Don't forget, I am alien," she commented not even looking toward him.

"Gaila, is there anything that I can do…" he was cut off by a a green palm in his face and a stretch and yawn that seemed to garner nonchalance.

"I have nothing to say to you about our past. The only reason why I'm helping you is because Spock asked and it's about Nyota. I fail to see how any of this has to do with you. You know, Jim, that was always your problem, you were always so fucking narcissistic, as if everything has to do with you. You and I are over, we have been for years, I don't see what our past relationship has to do with saving _Le Chevalier's _current one."

"That's pretty harsh Gaila," Jim replied. Gaila removed her aviator glasses down to the bridge of her nose and gritted her teeth. Jim remembered this face, it was the face she used right before she… SLAP!

Jim grabbed his stinging cheek and nodded his head in aggreeance.

"You want to talk about harsh, Jim, then we can, I have no qualms about discussing our past relationship. I just didn't want to talk about us when this situation doesn't call for it."

"How can you say this situation doesn't call for it? It's potentially dangerous…" he stopped short as her glasses crept back up onto her face and one yellow tear streaked down her face. He was a dick.

"Do you honestly think that I would let anything happen to you," she said in a voice that was less than a whisper. She jumped from the chair and ran towards the door, "You are such a dick."

Jim, feeling infinitely like the ass that he was, followed behind her trying to make it right. He found her standing in the middle of her kitchen drinking an amber glass of liquid. She chugged it down and looked at him, her eyes full of anger.

"If this weren't for Spock I wouldn't be doing it. I could have lived my whole life and never seen your face again, Jim. What you fail to realize is that this situation is not about you or us or what we were. We're here to help the Chev and his girl, both of whom just happen to be our close friends. So, I need for you to move on because I have," she didn't look back at him as she walked into the dark hallways on the opposite side of the tidy home.

Jim didn't leave the room. He sat at the counter on a stool and finished his drink reminiscing about the old times. Despite all the tight spots they'd all been in, this seemed the tightest and most complicated. Jim knew that things were changing and regardless of his own fight against the ever moving tide, he knew that he had to amend.

Across the great ocean Nyota walked steadfastly out of the DFW airport and was hit with a cloud of heat that made her body lurch back and down towards her knees. Her stomach stirred, and the peanuts she'd been provided during her flight gurgled up her esophagus into the back of her throat. She stopped, dropping her luggage, and put her hand up to her mouth, tears leaked from her eyes and somehow she swallowed the vomit back down.

This was the second time within three days that she'd felt as if she instantly needed to vomit. This time the heat, she knew was far more intense than she was prepared for. She got to her feet and reached into her carryon bag for her water, uncapped the bottle and took a deep drink, almost emptying it. She didn't feel great, but her stomach didn't gurgle as much. This was the third stop on her long scavenger hunt. She felt like the proverbial mouse looking for the cheese; the cheese being Spock. She placed her aviator glasses on her face and looked around for both a cab and a clue as to where she was to go next. It was late in the day and she didn't think that she would be able to take anymore travelling unless it was to a hotel room with air conditioning. Dallas, Texas was too hot during the summer and she was entirely too tired to keep moving.

Her persistence was shot for the day, and once more she desperately missed Spock. There was something going on with her that she knew was bigger than herself, and she had no idea what it was. Her body felt alive and she couldn't pinpoint the reason as to why. She lifted her bag onto her left shoulder and her right hand into the air to hail a taxi, but something stopped her. A twinkle in her peripheral vision caught her eye and she instictively walked toward it. The twinkle, as she approached it, turned out to be a silver Vulcan coin, and as she reached down to pick it up she saw a long line of twinkles along the walkway. She followed, picking up the coins as she went so as not to leave a trail. She looked around over her shoulder, watching to make sure she wasn't being followed or watched. And inside her mind, she also wondered, how did Spock do this?

Upon reaching the end of her trail, there was an empty car just sitting there with the doors unlocked. No one seemed to be guarding it, nor did any of the policing agencies seem to be ushering the owner of the car on. So, Uhura assuming the car was for her, put her luggage into the passeger's side and jumped into the driver's seat. She pushed the starter button and the car sprang to life. For a moment she was discombobulated until she heard the GPS navigation system come to life and talk to her.

_Hello Nyota, please drive to highlighted route, _the GPS system spoke to her in Spock's voice. She smiled and her heart skipped a beat. She shook her head in disbelief and followed the highlighted purpled road toward her destination.

"How do you do it?" she asked, as she made her way out of the airport's Southern entrance. It was relatively early in the day, and she wondered where Spock would be taking her.

_Nyota, you will be met by an old, mutual friend. For either of us, it is not easy being green. Please continue 10 miles until you reach your destination. _

"Only ten miles, that's not far." Turns out, ten miles was the closest motel to the outside of DFW (besides the DFW Hilton, which was located on the inside of the massive airport). Nyota rolled the car into the parking lot and parked in the front, waiting for further instruction or clues as to what to do next.

_There is a room key and room waiting for you, dearest. Your name from now until told differently is Roddy Adelphia, our mutual friend will meet you with the appropriate identification. Please take the voice implant chip of the GPS and destroy it. Also, leave the car here in the parking lot._

Nyota did as she was bid, removing the chip and leaving the keys in the car as she'd found them. Her lover, she'd always known, was clever, but she never imagined in her wildest dreams that she would be so ingrained in espionage. Spock, or whomever he was, was the most intriguing man that she'd ever met. She walked into the Holiday Inn Select, noting the businessmen and wondering if she'd see any of the many people that she'd recognized from Monte Verte. Surely not, Spock wouldn't send anyone from the community, as they would be caught cavorting, and there was too much at stake for that. She worked through the motions of checking in, her new identity flowing from her lips as easily as her actual name.

He'd picked the right woman for the job, Nyota was used to playing out fantasies of men, and used to lying. This, she knew, was no fantasy, the reality of it all was what made it so thrilling. She had to catch her breath, she had to come to her senses and keep her nerve before she lost her mind. Nyota was truly on an adventure, one that she knew as just beginning. She'd left the rudimentary boredom that she thought she'd longed for behind. She was on the third floor, a seemingly simple hallway, leading to a dull room she suspected, she'd been in better and she'd definitely been in worse. The card key didn't click as she entered, but made a beep and she opened the door with a nonplussed whish of air.

Nyota was pushed down by the sight in front of her, a friend from the past indeed, a very old, very dear friend. And a friend from a very good memory. Nyota's face went from dim and dismal to truly esctastic, and the warmth that washed over her, replenishing her soul and filling her with vim and vigor to continue her journey.

"Gaila? Is that you?" the Orion smiled back at her. She hadn't changed much, her red curls were a little longer, her face a little thinner, her body a little more womanly than the 16 year old Nyota had know those many years ago, but this was Gaila. This was her friend that she'd known in France when they were both becoming courtesans at the salon.

"Alive and in the green flesh," Gaila gave a swivel of her neck. Nyota gave a running leap and bounded into Gaila's arms, hugging her unable to stop the tears from sliding warm down her face.

"Ok, stop the water works, you're gonna make me cry like a baby. We ain't got time for that right now."

"What are you doing here?" Nyota was truly shocked.

"What do you think? The Chev beckons, we come running. And trust me, running is definitely what we're doing."

"How do you know Sp…" Gaila waived her hands in front of Nyota's mouth to stop her from talking.

"You never, ever say his true name unless you're completely sure that either of you are alone. Trust me, people who work for him don't even know his true name." Gaila sighed in relief, but Nyota regarded her with a face that was priceless.

"What the fuck is happening?"

"Well, it seems as if The Chev has stolen something much more rare than that damned Ruby Pendant."

"Pike doesn't deserve what we've done to him, Gaila, he honestly doesn't."

"Yeah he does, trust me. Open your eyes, Ny, I mean how many multi-billionaire Generals do you know? Didn't you ever wonder how that man garnered all that money?"

"He was an antiques trader, dealing in the rare."

"Yes, indeed, the rare antique and the rare human. He ordered you from the salon, Ny, your meeting was no accident. You were promised to Pike from after your first year at the salon." Nyota backed away from Gaila, the backs of her knees hitting a chair and with a thud she fell into the soft cushions.

"What are you telling me?"

"In short, Pike is a slave trader, Ny."

"How am I supposed to believe any of this?"

"Hopefully by the end of all of this you will," Gaila walked over to her friend and took her hand, "believe me, I didn't understand either until I was finished with it all. Get some sleep, we have a busy few weeks ahead of us. I know that you don't trust anyone right now, but at least trust yourself, Nyota. If at anytime that you feel that you don't want to continue, no harm will befall you."

Those last words struck Nyota as strange, why wouldn't the super-secret _Le Chevalier _not want anything to happen to her. She knew who his alter ego was, and despite the fact that she knew she would never give those secrets away, how did he. He didn't. Her stomach gurgled with both anticipation and nausea, and she felt herself lurch forward. Her nerves were literally killing her. She grabbed the hotel waste basket from next to her and vomitted into it. Gaila was standing next to her, holding her hair and rubbing her back. When Nyota had finished, Gaila handed her water and a towel to rinse her mouth and wipe.

"Nyota, let me ask you something?" Gaila started, handing Nyota a cold compress for her forehead.

"What is it?"

"What was the first day of your last period?"

"This is a pure horseshit! First you have me meet you in Morocco and now you have me flying to Houston, TX on the redeye to meet an Orion and your girlfriend? I should kick your ass when I see you," McCoy said into the redi-com.

"She will need to travel with a doctor, you will be protected by two of my best operatives," _and friends _Spock wanted to add, but wasn't whether or not the line was tapped. It was two months into the chase and the Intergalatactic Police had finally given in on finding him and the Ruby Pendant, drumming the loss up as another of _Le Chevalier's _many victories. Spock knew that he had his father to thank for the heat got too close or too hot, Sarek would always remind the Galaxy that _Le Chevalier _was meerly a thief that would get his betters soon enough. Then Spock would receive a rather anonymous note of both scolding and relief, and the news would report that the policing agencies once certain that they were on his trail (and quite possibly were) had given up flatly. But Pike was still at large, vowing in the same breath upon Galactic recognition that he would still be there to find _Le Chevalier_ much like Ahab and his Whale (the man actually used that allusion, too).

"Is she sick?"

"That will be for you to determine. I do not believe that she is sick, but her body is definitely out of homeostasis."

"Ok, well, off I go then, I cannot believe I signed up for this. After I am finished, you'll owe me."

"I will indeed good friend. I will indeed."

The conversation ended with a click as Spock exited into the cool mountainous air of the Lucerne airport. He was followed by Sulu and Scotty and other operatives lying in wait for whatever trouble may befall them. Spock kept a delicate eye out for Pike's men, knowing that the General had commanded millions and was a formidable opponent when it came to this particular game of cat and mouse that Spock was playing. In the end, though, Spock knew that this game was his, no matter how close they came to capture or death.

The car awaited them, and all three men stepped in and were driven about ten miles away from the airport into the deep country of Switzerland. The car zipped speedily down the autobahn, Spock knowing that they were being watched and followed like pretty prey.

"This shit is getting old," Scotty said in a bored, muffled tone.

"Do you want me to wave to bastards that are following us, or just shoot out their tires?" Sulu snarked.

"Stick to plan gentlemen, I assure you those men are just precious decoys. Pike is a lot more impressive than all of that."

"If you say so, sticking to the plan it is," Sulu said with almost a sign of sadness in his eyes that he didn't get the chance to tease the nosy bastards following them. As the driver slowed the car and turned into an almost empty parking lot filled with three more identical black Mercedies, three men exited the initial car dressed in all black and carrying identical black bags. They all waved their salutations and drove off in three different ways. Within a few seconds, three cars gave pursuit of the three black Mercedies, but only after giving a cursory glance to the initial black Mercedies that was perceived empty. What those three groups of Pike's men would find when they were thirty or so miles down each of those roads was a dead end and drivers that had nothing to do with _Le Chevalier _in the least other than being hired for that day's events. And they would return to the parking lot to findd it empty; finding the original black Mercedes long gone. If they had taken the time to explore the car more thoroughly, they would have noted three large duffle bags in the back of the car, large enough to fit human beings into. If they had taken a good look at the men they had been following primarily, then they would not have been fooled when the three drivers stepped from the orignial black Mercedies. If Pike's men had been less of the befuddled goons from a ridiculous movie, then they would have realized that the bags the men were carrying were flat and almost vagrant. However, Pike's hoodlums were neither as intelligent nor as committed as Spock's and only gave a cursery inquiry to the seemingly empty original Mercedes and were thusly fooled.

Pike roared with flaring anger at this for what seemed like hours until his throat was sore from screaming. After much of the like he decided that the ongoing anger was unneccesary and moved forward with this plan. Instead of chasing the mouse, he had to take the cheese. Instead of chasing of the most notable criminal mastermind of the galaxy, he would chase after what the criminal wanted most in the world, Nyota.

"I'm done with chasing him. Find the girl. Search every port from here to Vulcan. There has to be a trail, and if there is I know that gypsy bitch has left one. I will not be made a cuckold by some whore and a thief," he stamped his cane into the ground looking every part the villain and ambled off into the dark corners of his lonely home.

It didn't take long for Pike's men to find Nyota in Houston. She was put in a small home in the 3rd ward along with Gaila. Two months of simple humidity and sun had done well with Nyota's burgeoing pregnancy, egging the nausea to subside. Nyota was at a pleasing rounded stage of her pregnancy, having outgrown her past thinness and now with beautiful supple curves, a fuller face that didn't appear fat, and a radiant glow that only an expectant mother could have. Her belly wasn't even conceivable yet, but her breasts and her hips were and she knew that Spock would have loved to take advantage of all of the new softness her body yielded. She laid on the back deck of the home, imagining his touch on her body and his face, leading her hand down the rounded plain of her abdomen to the mound just above her womanhood. The other hand, her left, teased the nippled of her left breast through her shirt and she slipped two fingers inside of herself, biting her bottom lip. She worked her fingers slowly, her body more alive than it had ever been, she felt herself moving closer, her body tightening and a moan escaping her tensed lips. She was so close but the sound of glass breaking brought her back into the present.

Nyota sat up quickly and donned her shoes. Gaila came flying through the back screen door with both of their bags and a lip bloodied yellowish-green.

"Grab your shit, girly, we gotta go," Gaila threw the bag and Nyota caught it, and they both hurried out of the back door towards the parked car. There had been a practiced escape plan just in case something of the sort happened.

"What happened?" Nyota asked, as they whipped through the narrow streets of 3rd Ward Houston, Texas.

"Pike's men, they found you. I kicked one's ass, but we're definitely being followed. I'm going to try to shake them before we get to the airport. No matter what happens, Ny, get on that plane. I don't care if I'm not with you, I promise you, if you get on that plane everything will be ok. You understand?"

"I understand," Nyota said, only slightly present in the situation. It wasn't until she was in true danger that she realized the magnitutde of the situation. She felt the nausea creepig up again. Where was Spock? A shot rang out and smashed the glass in the rearview mirror of the car.

"Glove compartment, Ny!" Gaila yelled Nyota reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a handgun and handed it to Gaila. Again, in a dreamstate, not really inside of the situation. Gailed pulled the car into a j-turn, the wheels screeching, smoke coming from the bottom of the car as the rubber burned the asphalt, and the traffic around her swerving so as not to get hit. She reached her hand out of the driver's side window and shot three bullets into the car that was behind chasing them. One bullet crashed the windshield of the enemy car into bits, the other two hit the two men in the front squarely in the head, causing the car to go off road and hit a palm tree on the soft-shoulder. Gaila righted the car at the speed of 40mph and hurried towards George Bush International. There was a man flanking Gaila, a familiar face that she really hadn't seen much of. He was instructed to be a ghost by his friend and boss, so he ghosted, just in case something much like this happened. Now, he was only slightly present, watching proudly as Gaila handled herself and the precious cargo.

Jim called Spock on a low-frequency communicator and reassure him that the training hadn't gone to waste.

"She handled herself much like the professional I knew that she would. The plane is ready for them when they arrive. I will be there to head off the rest of Pike's men. I was told that he has a number waiting at both ports. Over." Jim sped next to them, and Gaila, seeing his eyes from the right rearview, acknowledged with a nod of her head and watched as he sped past them and got in front.

"Was that?" Nyota started.

"Yes. Like I said, no matter what happens, you must get on that plane."

She was finally starting to understand how powerful Spock was, how strong he was. She was finally trying to understand the war that she'd started unbeknownst. This was a war between two underground demi-gods of the criminal world, and much like Helen of Troy, she'd gone and fucked up the peace that had shrowded them in secrecy for so long. There could be only one, Nyota thought, and she knew with peaceful assurance that she'd chosen the correct one.

"Get me to that plane, Gaila."

"Yes, ma'am," Gaila said and sped up faster behind Jim.

The ride to the actual plane was simple without anymore gun play, but once they entered the personal runway, bullets started to fly and cars screeched from seeming out of nowhere. Gaila yelled at Nyota to put her head down as she barricaded her way through a onslaught of bullets and cars. Jim was in front of her in a bright yellow Hummer trying to help them get their way to the plane. Once they reached a safe distance and the hit men had been slightly subdued (the gunfire died down a bit) Nyota and Gaila exited the car and sneaked toward the awaiting stairs of the plane. Jim awaited in the flanks, waiting to snipe any unsuspecting idiot that dare try to hurt either of the ladies.

Nyota was just up the stairs and helping to load her baggage when they saw Jim being thrown to the ground in front of them. He was bleeding from his mouth and as one of the goons threw him to the ground they hit him in the head with the stock of the gun.

"Go! Don't worry about me, get her out of here!" Jim screamed, kicking up at the goons. Out of the shadows appeared Pike in his wheelchair, his eyes angered and red at the whites, making the cristal blue of them seem demonic. Nyota stopped stock still on the stairs of the plane, Gaila standing between her, Jim on the ground as a sacrifice and McCoy helpig her with her bags.

"Did you honestly think that you were free, Camille, to do as you please? To hell with the pendant. You ARE mine. From the day I saw you enter the salon until now. Apparently, the Madame didn't teach you well enough. Go ahead and fly to him, but know this, the longer you stay away, the longer your friends will suffer, and that goes doubly for Mr. Spock, or should I say, _Le Chevalier. _I know all of his secrets, even his biggest of all. Take the Orion and chain her, get her ready for market, take the playboy and bring him with me."

Nyota started to run down the steps, but McCoy grabbed her and Gaila and Jim stopped her with protests.

"No! Get on that plane! Remember, you promised me! Get on the plane. I promise you, everything will be alright!" Gaila said, as she dropped her gun and submitted to the shackles around her neck and wrists. Nyota nodded , and biting back tears, turned and got onto the plane. As it took off, she saw them putting Gaila into a human-sized cage, and beating Jim until he passed out. Not being able to bear the scenes anymore, she turned her face into the strong chest of McCoy and sobbed.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"_Love is patient, Love is Kind…" – The Bible I Corinthians 13:4_

When she finally saw Spock, her face didn't light up, nor did her heart feel strong. She actually reared up and slapped him so hard that his face bore a green bruise in the shape of her hand. She reared up to do it again, but he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her into the safe-house. Sulu, McCoy and Scotty were all sniggering slightly.

"I like this girl," Sulu said, grabbing the baggage from the car that had brought them to the safe-house in the middle of the French countryside. This was the family home, a place completely secluded from the outside world. There was no connection to anything, and the only people who knew about it were those closest to _Le Chevalier_, and now Nyota. The same Nyota that was fighting against his Vulcan grip and that very same Nyota whom he picked up as if she were a rag doll and threw down softly onto a cushioned sofa; he turned to lock the room, knowing that she was in for a row or a fuck, whichever he cared not.

"You bastard!" she said, running up to slap him again. He took this one, it rattled his teeth. He'd heard that women got a bit stronger when pregnant, must have been the part-Vulcan blood flowing within her. His face remained stoic, knowing that her anger would subside.

"Fuck you Spock," she hit him over and over again, and tears washed out of her eyes. He grabbed her into a strong embrace and held her until she stopped crying. When he looked down at her, she was still slightly angry, but she grabbed his head down in a kiss anyway. It was the best kiss of his life after not seeing her for so long.

Sulu, Scotty and McCoy, after hearing the angered ranting of a mad, pregnant woman, were then entreated to the sultry sounds of their friend and leader getting ridden like a racehorse. Glass was broken, the bed was creaking, and the guttural moans of The Chev were ever-so audible. This continued for the better part of an hour until a hard, harsh, deep tone escaped masculine and throaty, and a silky sigh of relief followed. All three men looked at one another, took their drinks and clinked them together.

"To Nyota, we really, really, like this girl!" They all said in unison and drank to their new lady.

She lay curled comfortably at his side, stroking the sparse hairs of his chest. He was actually smiling dumbly at the thought of what had just happened. His father was correct; _Le Chevalier_ had indeed gotten his betters.

"I have much I need to explain to you," He said.

"I know you do, so start explaining."

"You must understand, when we made love the first time I was afraid… to be sure…the feelings I felt... they caused me to hold back…"

"Spock, I care not about the past, but our future is important, and therefore I need for you to be completely candid with me. It is no longer me who is the untrustworthy one. I have come all of this way to be with you. I didn't run away once I found out I was having your child. I need to know everything or so help me, I will pack my things and leave right now," she sat up, her hair falling over one shoulder, shading one beautiful chocolate nipple from his view. Pregnancy was a beautiful beast on her, he noted, and then turned his head back to more important things.

"We need to take a turn about the grounds then," Spock said, standing and donning his clothes. She followed suit. When they exited, the common area was empty, Spock knowing that his friends had probably escaped to other parts of the home as to give the two of them some privacy. The air was crisp and clear as they exited the mansion that was surrounded by fields and fields of purple lavender, scenting the air with calming expression. She ran through the purple sea with Spock's hand, and he followed willingly behind her, having always wanted to be carried away on the wings of love the way he was now. When they happened upon a distance from the house, he turned her toward it and stopped her.

"This is my family home, has been for centuries. Before many of the wars, before the Americas this home existed, and so has the legend of _Le Chevalier_. His name is Medieval. But the legend grew in intensity during the time of French aristocracy. He stole something very rare and beautiful for Marie Antoinette and was knighted, thus taking the name _Le Chevalier_. Like many thieves, he survived the Revolution by playing both sides and being a spy for Napoleon's reign of terror. He was given more land in which to build by Napoleon as thanks for his intrigue during the war. After, much didn't befall; there was peace for _Le Chevalier _until the world wars, where his beloved France was surely in peril…"

"Spock… stop… this makes no sense. I know that Vulcans live long, but not that long… skip to the end."

"I suppose you're right, as I have not been completely forward, and I did promise to be candid. Let me start from only one generation ago… the story of a young woman named Amanda Grayson, a beautiful French lady…

_Her family didn't believe in the turgidity of technology that had befallen the graces of every community of the small town outside of Provence. She enjoyed the comforts of country living, and if ever she wanted to exert herself into the world of technological intrigue she could just go into the bustling cities. It wasn't as if her parents had shielded her from the real world as it were, she knew how to use every modern convenience, for she knew that they were preparing her for something more fearsome and charismatic than to be some country maid. She was known, and those that lived around them respected her and in a way feared her. _

_ It wasn't until the nearing death of her father, who had been stricken with some form of cancer or another, that all had been revealed to her as it had been revealed to him on the deathbed of his father before her. She sat, holding hands with her father, listening to the tale of the men that had come before him and even the stories that he'd garnered on his travels in duty to the lineage. That day, as her father breathed his last breath, she was ushered from the room and into a deep hidden cove by a group of hooded men; the place was familiar, as she'd heard about it in the stories from her childhood. She was put through a ceremony of quiet familiarity and then dubbed Le Chevalier. _From that day on, her life would be increasingly more difficult; she was seventeen years old.

_Amanda was sent to the best of schools, studied with the best of tutors. She was entreated by the strictest moralist that taught her how to act, the brightest philosophers who told her how to think, martial artist that trained her body and mind into a deathly target, and novelist to see what she could get away with. In the end, she was given the attitude of win or die. _

_And win she did. _

_She was the most noted and notorious of thieves, given to stakes of flying fancy, and an intuition that was second to none. In the twenty-third century, she became the most valiant and mercurial of all of her predecessors, with a following so strong and ceded that when she went to retire, those that would have her head or her heart were utterly torn flat. _

_ It wasn't until the summer of her life, when she was truly blessed with what one would call true calm. She could traverse with the popular citizenry as one known only as Amanda. She spoke the most flawless of French, and gave no intimation of her alter ego. And though she lived gracefully and with the most blissful of peace in the home that she'd grown to love on the outskirts of Provence, she was teased into one last score that would be her undoing. _

_ On the day that she would later recall as her last stand, she was greeted at her door by a man that was no more than five feet tall, but dressed in a suit and carrying a large satchel of money, which was to be a down payment. How he'd found this secret hideaway she knew not, but when she welcomed him inside and he showed her the money he kept in the satchel the offer he gave was one she could not refuse._

_He wanted her to steal a precious Vulcan opal. The Vulcan aristocracy was to be visiting the planet earth and with them they were carrying a prized Vulcan opal to the Louvre. She wouldn't have to travel far, and the job seemed easy enough. She acknowledged, gave the man the coordinates, and made sure that he would never be able to find his way back to her home again. No, she did not kill the man, only made sure that his memory was wiped of all traces. _

_ The night of the ball, she eased breathlessly through the garishly lit doors of the Louvre wearing a dress that one could only call fire red when all other women would wear dour purples and greens. She had nothing to fear, she was the best at her craft, and wanted to take these fools, Vulcans or no, for what she deemed as the esteem of her trade. She, knowing how to act in society, bowed when she was supposed, proffered her hand for kissing, and laughed and spoke when appropriate. All at the affair knew that the woman known as Amanda was a pure delight. She was on her second glass of the champagne when she spotted him, the keys to her downfall. He stood stock straight and tall in the middle of other men, dressed in the delightful colors of Vulcan dignity, she was being whisked about the floor by some man or the next and yet her eyes could not stop fleeting to his. He was tall and handsome but something about his carriage longed for more than just this moment in time, and she knew her undoing. The whispered warnings of her father echoed in her ears, but she paid no attention, and for a moment she'd forgotten the reason for her coming to the occasion. When their eyes caught, he answered her question. The eloquent dance of those that had instantly felt a surge of intensity, and in spite of herself, she smiled at him. _

_ He felt a stirring in him that caused him to leave his fellows in the group and make his way through the large crowd towards the dashing lady in red. She walked away; afraid of what would happen, coming upon a balcony and alone with her thoughts and feelings. He met her there, sure that his feet had led him toward a path of ignorance. Never had he been swept away by something so light and delicate and yet intense. _

_ "Will you walk with me?" His voice deep and low and stirring._

_ "Why do you ask me, when there are so many others who would be willing to accept that offer?"_

_ "You are the only that I find that I want to walk with," was his response. She smiled back, and took the steps down from the balcony and into the shaded grounds of night to be alone. _

_ "I am Sarek, of Vulcan," she knew whom he was and inwardly laughed. It was exactly his family that she was to be stealing from. Despite this fact, she could not help herself._

_ "I am Amanda," she responded._

_ "I have heard tell from many. You have impressed the whole ball. I wanted to know you for myself."_

_ "Know me, an interesting choice of words," she could see that he greened, "do Vulcans ever know anyone but their wives?"_

_ "I believe you to think me to mean more than I do."_

_ "Then you've read far too into my word, a trait of your race, I presume. Anyway, sit with me for a while if you wish. I have nothing to do for the time being," and she meant it. She was there to case the place until the ending of the gala. He being there was truly only the icing upon the proverbial cake. _

_They sat for what seemed like hours and talked of everything from Shakespeare to the modern technology to the traditions that kept them beholden to their very lives. He told her of how he detested these functions and how she detested them even more. He even let slip a secret of his timorous heart of how he felt trapped in the roles set upon him, of how the pressure of simply living in his culture didn't seem correct or right in him. She held his hand at this and they kissed in his way, she not really knowing what to do but the feeling was intimate and enchanting as their energies hummed from finger to finger. And then they kissed in her way, their lips touching and all of the passion and feeling he'd held back for ages flowing forward from lips to sacred lips. When it was time for them to part, his hands had stretched to the whole of her back, looking for the zipper of the dress as to take her on the very ground that they stood. She invited it; her small frame leaned so closely into him as to feel the heat of his hardness beneath his robes. _

_ "I do not wish to part from you," he responded._

_ "And the gods willing, we will not be parted. But you have your duties and I have mine," she said with one last kiss to his cheek. With a blink of an eye, she had escaped into the darkness, with only the ruffling of her skirts of to give her away. He wanted to give chase, but his footman came to him, summoning him to the commencement ceremony that was taking place in the gala. He did not see her again for the rest of the night. _

"Spock, stop," Nyota paused him in the telling of the story. Spock looked at her with only a slight annoyance in the pausing. Surely, he knew that she would have question, he only wished she'd waited until after the telling. He said that all would be revealed.

"Yes?" he asked, hoping his voice did not betray him. Her head had been laying in his lap as she listened intently, but she'd sat straight up with her question.

"You mean to tell me that _Le Chevalier _of recent legend was your mother?"

"One and the same, will you let me finish?" He asked. She nodded and he continued.

_That night Amanda committed her last of the largest crimes attributed to Le Chevalier, she stole the Grand Vulcan Opal from the Louvre. The next day, she met in secret with the soon to be Vulcan ambassador in a small café close to her small village. They talked and laughed and kissed for the whole day, and in a daring move, Amanda, forgoing the earlier warnings of her parents, brought him to the family home. She didn't quite tell him everything, but he'd guessed, as Vulcans are hard to trick. And that night they'd spent together was to be the most poignant of each of their lives. It was the night that Spock had been conceived. Sarek returned to Vulcan the next morning, neither of them aware of the child growing inside of Amanda. _

_The night of Amanda's death was dearly hard for Spock. She wasn't frail or sick; she simply passed away from what seemed like grief. He was young, only seventeen, the same age as she had been when he reached majority. He held her hand through the fever and the sick as she recounted the symbolic stories her father had told to her on his death bed. She asked that he make a choice; a choice between duty and freedom. When her last breaths left her body, the same men masked and covered in red cloaks took him to the exact same room, as familiar as it had been for Amanda from memory, and Knighted him. He knew what his choice was, despite the easier one that he could have made._

"For some time, I tried to escape my fate, but in the mix, found Jim and Sulu and Scotty, and I knew what I had to do. I had to become what is in my nature," Spock finished.

"You once asked me what I wanted out of this."

"I never thought that I could have given you a child," Spock responded rather sheepishly.

"Spock, honestly?"

"Despite my being male, I am a hybrid. Much like the mule, there was no guarantee that I was able to reproduce without the intervening of science. It was the hope of my father and the last wish of my mother that the lineage of _Le Chevalier _would die out with me."

"Then it will be our child's choice, despite our wishes."

By the time the story was finished they had wandered the length of the grounds and the sun was setting orange and pink over the horizon of the lavender sea. She took his hand in hers and walked slowly towards the warm comforts of the dimly lit home, hearing the cheers and raucous of her newly found friends.

When they entered the home, they were greeted by cheers from each man, and hugs and bows of congratulations. She was enticed into her new family and given non-alcoholic cider to toast with.

"These are my knights and closest friends, Sulu, McCoy, and Scotty. Jim unfortunately could not be here tonight as we will have to devise a plan to rescue him."

"Self-sacrificing, narcissistic bastard," Sulu responded.

"You know it was all for that green trim he did it. If we could just get him to stop doing things for women, we'd be set," Scotty added. Nyota laughed heartily.

"Gentlemen, gentleman, it was all a part of the master plan," Spock responded, reclining gently with Nyota upon his lap.

"Here we go," Scotty said.

"You know it would be nice to know the plan within a plan before it happens for once. This is his idea of a joke, I hope you can bear him, Nyota," Sulu said. She almost started at hearing her true name said from the lips of a virtual stranger. But the delight of it took away from her distress. She sipped her cider and smiled.

"I can bear it," she responded coyly.

"Oh, we heard that you can. Any woman that can get to this Vulcan's underbelly is mighty fine in our book," Scotty joked, his face red from too much drink.

"To know all of his secrets, especially of his family, that is a bitch," Sulu said.

"Indeed, mother and uncle feud…" Scotty started and Spock regarded him with large eyes that pleaded with him to stop. Scotty didn't finish the sentence, and Uhura regarded Spock with angry eyes.

"Why did you stop Monte? I am curious," she said without looking away from Spock. The Vulcan exhaled and rubbed a hand down his chin to his lips ending with a thin-lipped smile.

"My mother had a brother and me an uncle. He was born after her and therefore not entitled to the same venture as my mother. He was given to flights of fancy as well, but guarded to the strict nature of what is right. He was a Grayson by birth, but after much quarrel with my maternal father left the home in search for an identity that would give him solemnity within our home. He turned down the path of good, but succumbed to the evil that he thought was the path of _Le Chevalier. _You see, my love, I may be a thief, but I am honest. I do not seek to harm those around me with malice or otherwise. I only seek to take what is from the pompous aristocrats that do not give back to whom they enslave. My uncle is a man made wealthy by the filth that is slavery; he would enslave me if he could."

"What are you telling me?" Nyota said her hand at her chest in shock.

"My mother's brother and my uncle is the one you know as Christopher Pike."

"Do you think he will come for us?" Gaila asked Jim. She was caged next to him in what seemed to be a dimly lit and dank wine cellar. He was chained and shackled much as he and badly beaten.

"No doubt in my mind. Nyota is with him and safe. He is devising a plan. We cannot begin to doubt now. I am his oldest friend." Jim thought of Spock happily in the homely house on the outskirts of Provence. He wished to be there drinking to victory, conjuring new strategies. He knew this was it, the last ride of _Le Chevalier _and his knights.

"I would feel better if I weren't caged and waiting to be carted off to some part of the galaxy as some man's new wife."

"Don't worry, there is a plan," him said. The sounds of shackles coming off of him roused Gaila and she smiled knowingly. She watched as his hands magically appeared before and the shackled fell off.

"You bastard."

"Indeed. Can I help you, my lady?" He asked.

"In every way possible," she said. He walked over to the cage and undid the lock, and then undid her shackles. She ran her hands over her bruised wrists and neck and stretched long.

"This is our job, we are to infiltrate Pike's camp and set free all of his slaves. There is one in particular to look for; he goes by the name of G.U. We take him with us back to the home place," Jim said, standing in front of Gaila and really seeing her for the first time since they'd been reunited. In spite of himself, he reached forward and grabbed her by the neck and pulled her into a kiss. It was a bruising kiss, very passionate, and he felt her skin warm against him.

"There, that's how I feel. I never wanted this for you, G, you have to understand that."

"I chose this because I chose to be with you, just like Nyota. You know us women; you can't make us do anything we don't want to do."

"And what do you want to do?"

"Oh Jim, you fool, you know I could never stay away," she ruffled his hair and lead the way from the dank cell where they were being kept. She grabbed the utility knife that she'd found in his back pocket and picked the lock that was holding the old, wood-rotted door.

"I could've kicked that down," Jim said.

"This is a covert operation, let's not make any noise."

"Good thinking. I missed you, you know."

"I know you did, I deserve to be missed," she said, slinking around a crate of wine and looking for any type of weapon. Jim peaked his head over the crate of wine and noticed that they were happily alone, no guards.

"Where do you think we are?" Jim asked.

"I've no idea; Pike has innumerous amounts of homes in varying places around the world. We could be anywhere," Gaila said, seeing a peeling of yellow light coming from the top of stone steps. They were indeed in a wine cellar, so she knew they were inside of a home.

"Ladies first," Jim said, and Gaila regarded him with annoyed eyes. She took the first, slow steps up the stairs and inched the door open. She signaled to Jim to join her and he rushed up next to her.

Surprisingly, there were no guards, so Gaila assumed that this was a home for entertaining and not for the work that Pike was also known for doing. She and Jim sneaked up and out into a completely empty kitchen. There was no greater way of telling what country you were in than by the food that was hastily put away in the kitchen. Gaila and Jim happily knew that they'd hit the jackpot. Jim opened the cabinets and Gaila hit the fridge both of them looking for both food and clues. Jim found Jewel Osco brand cheese and smiled warmly, he knew that brand from his time in Midwest United States.

"I think we're in Chicago," Jim smiled, taking a large bite of the hunk of cheese.

"Awesome," Gaila said through a bite of a ham sandwich she'd made. Jim smiled at her and nodded his head towards the exit of the kitchen.

The rest of the house was blessedly desolate; the furniture covered with tarps and old sheets to keep the dust from coating it in the absence of the owner. Gaila and Jim treaded lightly despite the fact that they seemed alone, just in case this was a diversion. They searched the house completely, looking for any sight of life and found none. They made their way up the large stairway towards the guest chambers, not finding anything but one locked door.

"If ever there was a time to kick down a door, Jim," Gaila offered a hand. Jim smiled and kicked at the door, shaking the heavy oak a bit but not breaking it. He kicked again and he door went flying off of its hinges. There was a deep smell of funk and the room was covered with cages much like the ones that she and Jim had been kept in. The room was relatively empty except for the still form of an older black man.

"Jim, he's breathing, hurry," Gaila said, making quick work of the lock and Jim undoing the man's shackles. The man had been badly beaten and left for dead it seemed. The man was so thin that he seemed as if he hadn't eaten for days. His lips were dry and the skin cracked and marbled on his lips from lack of water. Gaila had never seen the horrors of the slave trade up close but now she understood why she'd said yes to Spock's proposition in the first place. Pike had to be stopped. As an Orion woman, she'd known many of her friends that had chosen the way of servitude, she herself had once been a courtesan, but she had never wished the type of slavery that was so common amongst her people upon any other species. The trading of people sickened her and her yellow blood chilled.

"Sir, sir, open your eyes, please…" Gaila whispered, watching as the man opened his hazel eyes under long lashes.

"Beautiful green woman, are you an angel?" the man whispered over chapped lips.

"No, I'm just a woman that's here to help. My name's Gaila, can you walk?" she asked, the man nodded as she helped him out of the cage and onto shaky legs. Jim returned from the kitchen with some water and a small bite of bread for the man, and they allowed the man to drink and eat slowly while he came to.

"This is Jim, how did you get here?"

"I am G.U., I was leading my small gypsy troupe and carnival folk through the Midwest, and we were told that we would get good work from a man named Pike. When we arrived, he took the women and the young girls and separated them from the men. He sold the women as wives, killed a lot of the men and husbands, and took the young boys and gave them to militia groups as soldiers. He beat me and left me here to die in my guilt and sadness," the man said with we eyes filled with tears.

"We were sent to find you by a very special person. Will you trust us?" Gaila said.

"Who is looking for me?"

"_Le Chevalier_, even we do not know why, but he has asked us to find a man fitting your description and your name to take back with us to his private home."

"_Le Chevalier_, the master thief?" G.U. asked.

"That very same, we are his knights," Jim said happily.

"I will come with you, maybe he can help me save some of my people."

"Great. Now to find a way out of this hell-hole," Gaila said

Nyota sat on the front porch of her new home, not really feeling at ease with her new position in life as the wife of an international criminal, nor as the mother of his child. For the first time, she felt the weight of her old life and her new life coming into fruition. She would not choose her old life of being a courtesan over the love and closeness that she felt for Spock or for her unborn child. And happily, she knew that this was as close as she could be to having her cake and eating it too. Spock was currently away from the house, he was out to pick up Gaila and Jim from the shuttleport. It was rare that he went himself, and the buzzing between the house had been quite small since they'd heard of Jim and Gaila's survival. But Spock felt the need to meet his friend and partner face to face, so Nyota sat and waited for his return. She knew now that this waiting would be more a part of her life than she ever realized. If someone would have asked her six months earlier if she thought she'd be pregnant with the baby of an international thief, she would have laughed in their faces and walked away.

Funny how life works out.

She snickered aloud.

"What's so funny?" McCoy asked as he sat in a rocking chair next to her on the front porch.

"Just thinking about… about life," she mused.

"An expectant mother generally does those things. You worried?" he asked in a voice that was clear and southern and romantic against the lavender fields. There was a dark glow of pink in the setting sun of dusk and the winds blew briskly over the fields.

"No, I know, somehow that everything will be just fine," she rubbed her hand over her swelling belly and felt a sharp rumble. The look of shock alerted the doctor.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"The baby kicked… wow!" In the distance she heard the rumble of a car, it was Spock, and she stood to watch the car pull slowly into the long driveway. She stood and walked towards him, ready to see his face. Spock stood from the car and walked to the back opening the door to a man that looked vaguely familiar as she neared. Her eyes went from Spock to the man and as she neared all the memories of years ago came rushing back. The memories of his face as she last saw him, though they were lined from years of age she knew whom he was, and her feet carried her quickly to him. When she reached him, he turned to look at her, his eyes thinking that he was envisioning a ghost. They stood an arm's length apart, not speaking only staring.

"G-gideon…" she said and then the tears came, her hands running to his face, "father." Jim and Gaila stared at Spock and then back at one another. That was why Spock had specifically asked for them to find him.

"Nyota," Gideon asked, looking at her and smiling widely and then running his hands over her swollen belly, "my child."

They embraced strongly, tears running wildly down their faces.

"You must explain to me, are you _Le Chevalier_?" Gideon asked.

"No, but my husband is, him," Nyota pointed to Spock, who seemed like the humbled driver of a car to the eyes of Gideon. The old man bowed low and Spock bowed low as well in mutual respect.

"You brought me my father back," she ran to Spock and hugged him.

"Children need grandparents," Spock said, holding her closely.

"All this emotion is making me hungry, let's eat eh?" McCoy said, clapping Jim on the back.


End file.
